


Tale of the Last Clans

by downdeepsouth



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Multi, Original Character(s), multifandom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downdeepsouth/pseuds/downdeepsouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tale of the Last Clans is the first in the New Vulcan series where a whole stew's worth of new characters will be introduced alongside our AOS favorites to address the gaping hole in AOS canon that was Vulcan. Set after Into Darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sarek adjusted the thermal fabric at his neck. The only part of his body uncovered was his face. But neither the layers of thermal clothing under his robes nor his own accelerated metabolism did enough to keep him warm. And while this gave him a boost of energy, much of that was absorbed by his controls, which he forced into a neutral state despite his environment. Andorian Ambassador Endilev's meeting chambers were freezing, but Vulcan-Andorian past relations had several examples of how a Vulcan's normal discomfort could be mistaken by an Andorian for pretention or disrespect. Sarek and Thy'Lek went back almost a century now, and were acquainted enough that Sarek did not suspect the Ambassador would ever mistake his cold on purpose, but all Andorians were passionate. Better safe than sorry, as Amanda would say.

“You must be uncomfortable, Ambassador,” the Andorian noticed, and then leaned off to the side and issued commands in Andorian to his desk receiver. Then Sarek noticed his seat heating, and consequently the muscles in his back and legs unlocking and relaxing. He nodded his head in the Andorian's direction. Endilev's stalks twitched in acknowledgment. He cleared his throat.

“Vulcan and Andor have been acquainted for a long time, Ambassador.” He began slowly, obviously nervous. “Sometimes I think these humans don't know your kind at all. At least in comparison to us.” He smiled wide, an obviously anxious gesture, and showed a mouth full of yellow teeth, picked immaculately clean. Sarek nodded for him to go on, eager---even with the accommodation---to leave this room as quickly as possible. “It is not a secret that Andor even watched Vulcan's space travel from afar long before diplomatic relations between the two powers began.” Sarek continued to nod, urging him forward into whatever was causing the emotional reaction.

“This included during the time of Surak, and the centuries afterward,” he continued, almost as if waiting to get to the part where Sarek would stop him. Sarek did not actually intend to, and was now a little curious about the direction this conversation was headed in, and since that curiosity distracted him from the cold, it was logical that he indulge it in moderation. “It is well recorded in Andorian history when the atomic blast on your world marked the death of Surak. The series of large migrations off-world that happened in the subsequent two centuries are also held in our memory.”

Like the prick of a pin, an emotion spread through Sarek's chest. This was the reason for the anxiety. It was of course logical that Surak's teachings would have taken hundreds of years to truly be embraced by the majority of the planet. And Ambassador Endilev was correct; in this respect Terrans really did not know Vulcans. Many assumed that a line can be drawn on the year of Surak's death separating Pre-Reform and Post-Reform, and that all Vulcans on this side of the line acted “modern”. But they both knew better. In reality, Vulcan had a few more Civil Wars, and other, perhaps more damaging, violent incidents. And in those 300 years after the death of Surak there had been three large migrations of native Vulcans off-world. Those who formed the Romulan Empire were first of course, being fully driven off after killing Surak, but then a few more followed. Indeed, one line of Selek's research was dedicated to what he called Reunification, and he was busy mapping potential colonies with biologically-similar populations. He nodded again, still outwardly composed, and the Andorion continued.

“A large group of... well former Vulcans... migrated away from the system and towards the Orion Syndicate. If you'll look here...” he trailed off while fumbling with a monitor and a star chart filled the wall to their left, “... according to Andorian history, a group of several thousand ships moved past Coridan, Beta Rigel, Deneva, and Lorillia, but then weren't spotted by the monitoring stations we had at the time at Sigma Ceti, near Nausicaa, or around Argellus. It is believed by some Andorian scholars that this group either died off---prey for Orion scouting ships---or that they settled here.” Sarek reached forward as he was speaking and tapped the display. He had once been an astrophysicist, and knew well that the band of space in those boundaries did not contain any planets even moderately suited to Vulcans.

“That is certainly a theory. My colleague Selek would be interested in speaking to your scholars at length...” Endilev raised a blue hand to stop him.

“There's more.” They sat in silence for a few moments as blue hands flew over an Andorian keyboard. The map highlighted known Federation trade routes. “As you know, this corridor is notorious for large space orcas and thus avoided by most travelers of any sort, except biologists.” Sarek marveled at how a conversation could go from the unpleasant to the fascinating so quickly. Of course he had heard about the _Caelus Orca_! “But perhaps you do not know that seven years ago an Andorian research institution funded a team to enter the area and observe the space whales in their native environment.”

“There is much we do not know about the biology that sustains organisms whose native environment is the vacuum of space.”

“Indeed!” At Sarek's interest the Andorian was warming up to the subject, evidenced by the fact that he was speaking faster. Sarek was warming as well, the interesting distraction keeping his mind off the cold. “Well, look at what they found,” Endilev continued, opening some signal transmission files.

“Are these... signals coming from the Orca?” Sarek asked, his mind rolling through increasingly unlikely possibilities. But the Andorian was already moving his head and antenna in the way that signaled disagreement.

“No. These are subspace signals. And a lot of them too! Enough to...” he trailed off, but neither one needed him to finish.

Sarek stood. “Thank you, Ambassador Endilev. Thy'Lek.” He bowed his head and used his chosen name, acknowledging their friendship. As he turned, his mind was already running through his next steps.

 

      1. _Inform Selek, 2. Inform T'Pau, 3. Engage Starfleet via Admiral Stoddard..._




 

Sarek walked, more in his mind than watching where he was going, letting his ears guide him to an empty room. In the past he would have returned to his quarters, which would be welcomingly warm despite the fact that Amanda must find the heat too much for her. Disrupting old patterns was one way his Healer suggested he work through his loss. Now alone in a room, he found a spot on the wall to focus on and retreated into himself, thinking through his next steps. Chains of actions and reactions flowed through his mind, alternatives, how long each course of action would take, how much of an impact if could potentially have...

“Ambassador!” One of his Aides was beside him, his words underlined with tension. As he came up and out of himself, he discovered the stimulus.

He was standing in the Transporter Room looking at an empty transporter pad.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite Enterprise crew is tasked with their new mission, and the viability of the Vulcan race is at stake!

 Jim had once read a couple of articles for an interspecies ethics class about how genders at the bottom of power hierarchies in several Federation species---Human, Rigelian, Andorian, and Tellarite included---unconsciously displayed their understanding of that subordinate status in their standing and seated postures. Rigelian Zami females kept their gaze down, their neck bent, and their shoulders relaxed while the Jelna males made consistent eye contact, kept their neck vertical, and held their shoulders to a firm “T”. Andorian females kept a more consistent calm while stretching their antenna out wide, a gesture that mirrored their vigilance for new threats, while the males were regularly hostile but kept their antenna closer together, a sign they felt more safe in normal circumstances. Tellarite women insulted others with wide, expansive hand gestures, which kept their arms in front of them constantly fending off an attack, where Tellarite men kept their arms at the side and often shrugged with their insults, less worried about a physical threat. Human women sat and stood with their arms and legs tucked close while human males stretched their arms and legs out, literally taking up more room. _Manspreading_ , he thought, for a moment tickled by the 21st century moniker.

He was reminded of all that now as he ran his eyes around the Briefing Room table, taking in each of his Command Team as they pieced through the details of their next mission. Spock was straight-backed and his posture perfect, which would seem to be normal for Vulcans except that Jim knew Spock slouched when he was relaxed. McCoy had once called him on it, and while Spock had brushed it off Kirk noticed that he bounced right back into a sharper stance. Lt. Uhura had perfect vertical posture, as always, and moved with the grace of a ballerina. It was the one thing about her that made it clear when he was remembering the real her as opposed to when Spock Prime's memories were creeping in on him. The Uhura of the other universe sat at her station and in briefings in a more relaxed curve. To her left McCoy was all eyes. Ever since his meld on the ice planet all Jim could notice were McCoy's eyes, always open, half the time wide like he were some sort of madman. The other doctor was just as cantankerous, but his eyes were softer, more closed, and when he was deep in thought he would just let them drift down. His McCoy was wide-eyed, always ready for a red alert.

His head turned to Scotty, whose posture morphed just in this reality based on his status via Starfleet. Now he was straight-backed, professional, and while he was just as likely to couch his commentary in a joke as not, his entire bearing reflected his responsibility. It was as if his body understood that watching over these engines was a most important duty, one every other person on this boat relied upon. Every now and then Kirk would get a flash of what he had began calling “the other Scotty”, who was just as professional but came off a little more unwound. He spoke slower and his emotions---whether happy or angry---were slow to take his whole face. His Scotty was fast, almost jumpy, as quick to laugh as to anger. And every inch of the rebellious posture and speech from his stint on Delta Vega was gone. It Kirk didn't know how much Scotty valued three square meals he might mistake all that to mean the engineer was happier there than here. Chekov was the most interesting of all. His body language practically screamed his emotions, letting everyone know when he was excited, worried, scared, uncomfortable, or amused. Kirk thought it would calm down as the boy got used to the ship, and to his position of power relative to his age. While that must be in part the case, the navigator's body language only grew more communicative and transparent over time, not less.

“It does not seem logical, but it is,” Spock's voice broke him out of his own musings, and brought him back to the matter at hand. Spock was explaining the reason why all Vulcans, wherever they were, must be contacted and urged to New Vulcan. _Everyone's nervous because they think I don't understand._ The order had been handed down by Admiral Komack, and in his usual contemptuous tone. They all knew how difficult it was for Kirk to keep his mouth shut when faced with blatant power play like that. He couldn't decide on whether he was touched or insulted. He was way too young and inexperienced to be making these decisions, and whenever an order came down that the entire Command Team deemed important, they had a meeting before the briefing to coordinate how they were going to explain it to him. They thought he didn't know, but it was obvious to anyone who knew body language as well as he did.

“All biologically-compatible Vulcans must be prepared to relocate to New Vulcan when the new location is disclosed. As jarring as that action might seem in light of recent events, in this instance putting everyone on one planet is necessary. Vulcan's population as a species is low, Captain,” he said, turning to address his remarks directly to his superior, “and all living Vulcans, wherever they may be, are necessary if we are to survive as a people.”

“Plus,” Uhura chimed in, “it is unusual for Vulcans to travel or live alone. Staying in physical proximity to spouses and children is a characteristic that crosses cultures and is truly a data supported norm for everyone with Vulcanoid physiology. In the last four instances where Vulcan-like communities were discovered on other worlds, all of the discovered species that were compatible enough with Vulcans to reproduce without assistance shared this proximal need as well.”

“So,” and McCoy rounded the room and finished the thought, “if there are reports of one Vulcan there are almost certainly others.”

“And!” Chekov chimed in with an enthusiasm that was once shocking in this space, but now was starting to feel normal, and even infectious, “We are wery far away, so they might not know that a new homeworld has been acqwired and that they are supposed to go! Or they might need a ride. Or,”

“Yes yes yes, very practical,” Kirk assured the energetic ensign with a genuine smile, which smoothed out as he turned to the rest of the Bridge crew. Beside Chekov, Sulu practically bounced. Kirk had only really just met the helmsman, and even in his other memories it didn't seem like Sulu had really connected with his other self while they were on the Enterprise together. He wondered if that meant his other self hadn't been close to other Sulu, or that other Spock and other Sulu weren't close. His strongest memories of other Sulu were as an older man, a Captain himself. And Sulu always seemed relaxed, and never afraid. That might have put Jim off, except that his Sulu was just _fun_. No doubt Sulu was told by the others to wait until it was obvious he was on board with the mission before telling him the best part.

“*And*” Sulu began, his face reflecting the enthusiasm he reserved for a hobby, of which he had _many_ , “we're going into a sector of space known for Space Whales.” He stopped there, like that was all he needed to know. When Kirk didn't reflect the same manic glee, he continued. “You know I do biology on the side, so I get why no one here knows about the space whales, but--”

“The _Caelus Orca_ ,” Spock began, in a tone that Kirk would challenge anyone not to call haughty, “is a space-dwelling species which, in all but size is remarkably similar to the Terran _Orcinus Orca_. The _Orcinus Orca_ , more often called by humans the Killer Whale, all but went extinct in the 21st century, only saved by the Zombie Apocalypse, the human and very emotionally colorful referent to the cataclysm caused by the Augments that resulted in the dead rising and pausing Earth civilization for 82 years.”

“And we've never even seen one moving before, Captain,” Sulu continued, still trying to rope him into the excitement. “We've only found their corpses, which are so massive that thousands of other space-dwelling life forms use them as a habitats.”

“...the first discovery of which is referred to as the 'Vacuum Life Discovery' and occurred over four centuries ago when the Coridans discovered their first Orca body and habitat.” Kirk nodded as they continued, running through what he knew. That part of space was avoided by trade routes, both out of fear about what the whale---which was comparable to the Enterprise in size---would do and acknowledging that the area was a complex ecosystem that they did not yet understand.

“I take it that everyone is excited about our mission to find some far-flung Vulcan colonists and hunt for Space Whales?” Kirk summarized slowly, wondering if today was going to be an easy day, or a difficult one. A room full of nods, punctuated by a pair of raised, pointed eyebrows let him know he was getting off easy.

“Good!” He rose with his typical energy, “Let's get to work!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like this story? Please review and such!
> 
> For suggested casting, pics, fic recs, and other goodies, hit up http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enterprise crew fit in shore leave before setting out, but what the Command Crew find when the go ashore is nothing short of a mystery.

Spock sat cross-legged in his quarters. Lit by the deep ocher red tones of his firepot he relaxed his head back and closed his eyes.

**_The Captain is still experiencing after effects from the meld._ **

_Spock's mind, eidetic, drew him unbidden into the memory._

_They were across from each other with a chess board in the middle. A scenario they had found themselves in on 26 occasions since their first ship out. Three since they were recommissioned after Khan. It was Kirk's turn and Spock was struggling to come up with questions that would distract Kirk as much as the Captain's constant banter put him off. Kirk's main topic tonight was what he'd deemed Spock's “love life”--both colorfully emotional and utterly destabilizing—and thus the game had quickly gone out of control. If he were to win, he'd need to turn the tables._

_“You stare at faces while people are talking more than others. Why?” Kirk froze, his hand halfway towards a white piece when he stopped mid-air. Obviously his question had been successful, but it was one he had predicted would only work moderately well and that threw off his calculations. He watched as the Captain retracted his hand and drew a deep breath in through his nose and out his mouth. Then the Captain's hand shot out again and made a move, obviously recklessly._

_“More than others...?”_

_“The average interval of time an Enterprise crewman is staring at the face of a fellow shipmate as she is talking is 47%. For you it is 72%, and you are at the upper end of the range, much higher than Specialist Ferrero before you and right in line with Yeoman Ritai,” Spock explained, moving the next piece with ease, relieved to again have the upper hand._

_“Well, that's certainly an astute observation,” Kirk said, trying hard to focus on the board and then failing, abruptly looking up and straightening his posture. “Twice in my life knowing how someone was going to react the moment they made the decision was critical to my survival. After the first time, watching facial movements and body language was a way I could pull myself in and focus. After the second, it was reflex.”_

**_This was the moment._ **

Spock stopped there, remembering how the Captain just got quiet then, as if something pulled him deep into a thought. His eyes moved, giving some indication of mental activity. His breathing changed, in and out both through his nose. And then it was over, and he moved a piece. Again the move was hasty, but Spock couldn't shake what he saw and consequently lost the game.

**_Like today..._ **

_Spock panned around the Briefing Room, taking each person in turn. Instantly he knew that they had all spoken to one another. There were one-to-one correlations between each member of the Command Staff except for Kirk---99.8742% likely to be because he has not spoken to another person---and himself---100% because he refused to look at Ensign Chekov, which ironically only seemed to draw additional attention as a result. In his peripheral vision, he watched as the Captain scanned the table person-by-person. He started with Spock and then his glance hit each crew member in turn. Lieutenant Uhura, Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Commander Scott, Ensign Chekov---but then he stopped at Sulu. Kirk's eyes moved, his gaze obviously turned inward. At seven seconds Spock drew a loud breath._

_ He had been testing how much sound was required for him to get each member of the crew's attention in meetings since he came on board, subtly nudging them towards requiring less and less stimulus in each interaction. He had more opportunities to apply this pressure with the Command Team that any other group. Now they only required a deep breath. _

_At ten seconds Spock began the briefing. It was 94.379% likely than in 15-20 seconds Uhura's head would have turned at the sound of the air recyclers and she would have seen the Captain's inattention._

**_It is illogical not to disclose a problem with any member of the Command structure. Lives depended on their focus._ **

**_Captain Kirk has performed very well in his duties since the meld. It has been the only Captain's training Starfleet has allowed him._ **

**_Even small amounts of attention loss can have catastrophic consequences aboard a starship._ **

**_Commanding a crew without training is 87.34% more likely to cause a catastrophe than 4-27 second lapses occurring an average of 17 days apart._ **

**_If the lapses were plotted on a graph, the mean lengthened considerably after the first 74 days of command, at an average of 2.7 days growth between each lapse, abruptly ending after day 271._ **

His body temperature dropped 10 degrees, the metabolic “alarm” he had set for himself. Using math like a ladder, he climbed out from within himself.

_It has been 13 days since the last time a hypothetical percentage for Kirk has ended naturally at two decimal places._

_In 271, 2+1 = 3 and then 3+7 = 10_

_10 is the number of degrees his temperature dropped to alert him._

_10+3 = 13_

_13 is the number of days since the last time a hypothetical percentage for Kirk had ended naturally at two decimal places._

_2, 7, 1, 3, 10, 13_

Spock's eyes opened as the door chimed. “Enter,” he activated the door controls, and slowly rose to his feet. His calculations predicting the Captain's behavior were starting to approach a surprisingly high percentage of accuracy. Not only had he been able to predict that the Captain would come to his quarters, but when he would arrive, and if Kirk drew him into taking unneeded shore leave he would have predicted the Captain's intention as well.

“Hear me out,” Kirk started as Spock entered the main “room” of his cabin. Separating the small cabin space he was afforded---though it was much larger than most of the rest of the crew due to his rank---with smaller rooms had its basis in logic. For humans, dividing a larger space into a smaller one apparently made it “feel like more”. He suspected this was because the partitioning trained the human mind to regard some parts of the small space as related to specific tasks, thus reinforcing that a large number of seemingly unrelated actions could be taken in the space, and leading to the conclusion that it was larger than the square footage actually bore out.

As a Vulcan, his mind worked a great deal differently than the minds of his human counterparts. Dividing the space did nothing to make it seem larger. He kept the divisions because they added layers of privacy between his meditation chamber and the door. He could better muffle the sounds from the corridor with his firepot, door hangings, and wall hangings. And visually, it gave his meditation chamber a red glow and his kitchenette a yellow glow, while the front “room” was visually similar to the hall. These audio and visual cues were all a part of how he ordered his environment to reinforce his inner controls.

“I always do hear you, Captain, though I am at a loss to understand how that hearing could push you out of anywhere...” Spock began, though he did understand the phrase. As a starship captain on a deep space mission, Kirk had to communicate with more clarity to non-human life forms. And while Spock had the benefit of a human mother, none of the new civilizations they encountered would have that same connection with humans. He had been carefully using what his mother called “jokes” to move Kirk towards speech patterns that were more non-Human inclusive for the last 8.754 months.

“You know, I'm starting to think you know what I mean more often than you let on,” Kirk said, leveling an icy blue glare---which might have made another officer uncomfortable, but as such discomfort was an emotional reaction and as Spock's dissembling did had a logical basis, he was unfazed. “Anyway, just listen before arguing. You need to go on shore leave with us. Bones and I are going and you should be there.” There Kirk paused, as if waiting for an argument. When none came he gave Spock a questioning look, which was returned with an ironic quirk of brow.

“You asked me to 'just listen before-'”

“Yes yes yes!” Very quickly Kirk's words started coming out in his hands as well, and he began the wild gesturing while speaking that Spock always found a little unnerving. “One, the crew need to see at least the three of us together as much as possible. You remember Lieutenant K'T'illik's stats on how the crew perceive our relationship with one another and its direct correlation to crew morale. Of course you do, since you have an eidetic memory. Two--”

Spock found, once Kirk's words had escalated to 200 syllables per minute, that it was better to just let him continue without interruption. He nodded his head and they left his quarters, moving towards the Transporter Room.

“Four, these shore leave opportunities are rare for Command Staff and they offer us ways to learn about one another in new environments and with new stimuli, and learning more about each other  _ has _ to have a correlation with working better together---Are you wearing that out?” Kirk stopped abruptly as they stepped up to the Transporter Pad. He looked his First Officer up and down, taking in the black pants and shirt that normally went under his uniform.

“Yes Captain. If you read your bulletin about Tesnia, you would know that despite Federation intervention in 2151, they are still a non-aligned world. Since they are not a member of the Federation, and since they are well off the trade routes established by the Federation, they are a popular destination for other non-Federation races. For all those reasons I deemed it appropriate that, were I to go down to the planet while off-duty, I would not wear my Starfleet uniform. And as my robes did not seem appropriate here either, I thought my thermal regulation black shirt and trousers would do fine. Are they not appropriate for this occasion?” Kirk shook his head, not wanting to have to circle back to the crew deck now that he had gotten Spock to the Transporter Room.

“Look whose in his pjs,” McCoy said as he entered the Transporter Room and stepped onto the pad.

“All I'm sayin' is this: obviously, on occasions like this, when all we are doing is going down for shore leave, the transporter is a luxury. We should be taking a shuttle,” McCoy continued his rant through the beam down process, which Spock thought was quite an impressive feat. Their Captain, however, was not amused.

“Bones, we've been over this. The amount of fuel it would take to shuttle people back and forth from the ship to the planet, compared with the energy consumption of the transporter for the same number of people---I wrote a whole report on it, damn it!” Kirk shot back, his frustration turning to amusement as he took in his surroundings, as evidenced by his changing facial features. The venue they'd had themselves beamed down to, based on a recommendation from Sulu, who'd already been down, was a pleasant distraction. They were quickly moved off the Transporter Pad at the bar and ushered onto the main floor, which was a dance floor.

The dance floor was entirely too loud for Spock, who quickly took the lead and steered the group up a spiraling staircase to the third floor, which was bolstered with a sound dampener. The entire facility included eight floors—where all after the first were partial floors made from tiered, balconette seating---, and the ceilings were high enough that Spock felt accurate in describing this place as large, unlike his quarters. He navigated them to a table near one of the kitchens, and the heat wafting out each time servers passed though the door hit his chair in waves. The Captain and Doctor continued their conversation, which gave him time to relax into the warmer, darker, quieter atmosphere of the Tesnian establishment.

His eyes wander down to the first level, which included several dance floors. Even with the sound dampened he could follow the music the people below seemed to be enjoying---an impressively eclectic group of Andorians, Coridans, human colonists, and Orions---and noticed that, despite the differences in dance traditions and even muscle flexibility among the different species represented, the patrons quickly conformed to a set of seven specific dance movements. Anyone whose dancing achieved a higher degree of elaboration in movement was circled around, and this created a patchwork of small circles on the various dance floors. It was watching these circles, where one or two dancers displayed a more advanced level of technical sophistication, when he saw her.

Unconsciously his posture straightened, which McCoy noticed and which drew the attentions of his fellows. He was still focused on what, to any Vulcan, was a shocking sight. A Vulcan woman, dressed with clothing that covered her frame but was, to his eyes, gaudy in its use of bright colors, dancing in a way reminiscent of Vulcan children.

“Is that a...?” Kirk began, though he seemed unable to finish his statement. All three understood his meaning.

“She's dancing like an Orion slave girl!” McCoy declared, which for some reason put Spock's teeth on edge.

“Actually, Doctor, her dance moves are reminiscent of Vulcan children, during their instruction in movement for the purpose of physical exercise...” He trailed off, admitting to himself what stood out most to him. Her hair.

Most Vulcans had hair that ranged from coarse waves (like his father) to flat, straight strands (like himself). In truth, this lack of diversity in coronal hair was a reflection of Vulcan's larger lack of genetic diversity, the result of several historical schisms driving communities of Vulcans off-planet. The woman below had hair that was exuberantly curly and, as it was short, stood up on its own. As she danced it bounced around her in a way that could easily be described as “wild”.

“What are we looking at?” Uhura's voice pulled his gaze upward as she joined them, careful to sit between McCoy and Kirk. He nodded to her, always appreciating the small gestures on her part that were made for his benefit. She nodded in return, even as McCoy engaged her in conversation.

“There's a Vulcan woman down there and she is cutting a rug!” He directed her attention and soon they were all watching this oddity. Spock's mind was in part on the conversation, while another part was identifying additional genetic markers that varied from the Vulcan norm. Curly, full hair, caramel skin tone, a mouth .2157 millimeters more open than common for even the more equatorial tribes...

“As our next mission is to engage with Vulcans in the diaspora, it seems both prudent and logical that I make contact,” Spock said, rising. “If you will excuse me gentlemen, Lieutenant Uhura,” he finished, already nearing the base of the spiral staircase and heading down. Even with her outward genetic diversity and apparent comfort with public dancing, she would probably respond better to him than to any other member of the Command Staff.

As he descended, he adjusted his hearing to accommodate the much louder sounds on the first floor. He cut his way through the crowd, moving towards the carved out space where the Vulcan had been spotted. She was still dancing, and this particular venue looped discrete musical compositions together, leaving no pauses between songs. Staying on the edge of the circle, he tried to get her attention before giving up and stepping into her space.

“Hey! Whatsup with this? You are all in the middle of my jam!” Both his eyebrows shot up and fascination tore through him at her words. Not only were they as loud and emotionally evocative as any of his human crew mates, but her language itself was unique. It had more in common with the pre-Reform Vulcan dialects his mother taught him as a child than modern Vulcan. Electing to respond in kind, he choose a pre-Reform language most spoken by the inhabitants of Ta'Raan, just above the Fire Plains.

“My apologies. Would you accompany me to a higher floor, where we may discuss your relocation to New Vulcan? All Vulcans are needed now, and a planet has been secured and prepared for repatriation.” He was practically shouting this at her, and she look at first startled, and then amused.

“ _ You _ ,” she pointed to punctuate her words, “want to talk to  _ me _ ,” she pointed again, this time at her chest, “about  _ repatriation _ ?” Then she laughed, throwing her head back in a way that reminded him of the loud ward at the Healers Enclave, where the feeble of mind were tended to by the healers. Her body language was like a person who was mentally ill, and he had to control an instinctive response to flee. Then, as quickly as the laughter had come, it left and her body language moved towards threatening.

“How about this, a counter offer? You go back upstairs to your friends,” she pointed again, this time drawing his gaze to the table he had just left Kirk, McCoy, and Uhura at, where they were clearly following his interaction, “and I won't clip you.” He withdrew, not quite on the momentum of his earlier discomfort, and moved back to his table. He looked away from her as he climbed the staircase and by the time he was at the level with his table she had moved out of view. As he approached the table, his fellows turned to him in anticipation.

“Fascinating.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like this story? Please review and such!
> 
> For suggested casting, pics, fic recs, and other goodies, hit up http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shore leave trip ends quickly as the Enterprise crew discover a clue that could lead to an undiscovered community of Vulcans. 
> 
> This chapter was inspired by the TOS episode Balance of Terror. If you haven’t seen it, check out the trailer here.

Nyota resisted the urge to put her head down in her hands. Her headache started to lessen as he moved away from the table. She hated every inch of herself at times like this, and put all of her energy into making sure he didn't know anything about it. It reminded her of being nine, and eating a banana one day that sparked an allergy. All of the sudden her lips and cheeks and tongue were swollen, and after that every time she had a banana she tasted  _ swollen  _ instead of the fruit. And years later, when an over-the-counter hypo came out that would allow her to eat the banana, she only tried it again as a novelty. She had forgotten why she liked it and the adult version didn't inspire as much appreciation. Not enough to keep buying and using the hypo. 

Now Spock felt like  _ headache _ . It was worse when he was around, but it could come on even if she was alone. All she had to do was get in a mood and think about him. It never happened when they worked together, and the Healer had assured her it would not. Apparently the part of her mind that was oversensitive to Spock was the part he had inadvertently hurt over and over again. It was the part of her mind devoted to  _ them _ , their relationship, which they both had kept so compartmentalized that she shouldn’t be surprised that her thoughts about work were literally in a different place. 

“ _ This _ is about to be a humorous interaction,” drawled a voice from beside them. Sitting at one of this establishment's many bars was an Andorian. Dressed like a trader, he grinned a full set of clean, well-picked, yellow teeth. 

“Saklath?  _ (How so?) _ ” Uhura asked, knowing she wouldn't have to be loud for one of his antenna to catch her words. 

“Funny you should ask,” he said, continuing in Federation Standard and using a Terran turn of phrase, making it clear he had “clocked” all of them as Starfleet personnel. As he continued, conversations at her table quieted as the others got interested in the story the Andorian was spinning.

“This interaction will be humorous because he thinks he's talking to a Vulcan colonist and she thinks she's talking to a comrade. There will be humor in how they sort out who each really is.” The open, ambiguous nature of his statement caught Kirk's attention, and she watched him straighten up and seem to shake off what little he'd drunk since they arrived.

“And who is she, really?” Kirk asked, mirroring the Andorian's casual tone.

“She's a Nomad. The Nomads are Vulcan descendants, but migrated to this part of space as refugees over 5,000 years ago.” Instead of asking a follow up question, Uhura leaned in. She looked over at Kirk, catching his eye. Soon all of the crew were leaning in, quiet, eager for the Andorian to continue.

“Andorians have been watching the desert world for a long time. And while most humans think Vulcans are passionless, peaceful, and logical, we Andorians know different. In truth, Vulcans are territorial, ruthless, and unforgiving. If you get on the bad side of one, you might as well get comfortable because that's where you are going to stay.” At this, Uhura broke eye contact. Luckily, a second distraction emerged to cover her awkward body language.

“Um, I think Spock's about to bite off more than he can chew...” McCoy began, tension in his voice and a sharp glance at Kirk.

“Is it safe?” Kirk in turn shifted all of his much-discussed “power of personality” on the Andorian, who quickly responded.

“Yes yes yes! See!” They all looked back in time to see the Nomad pointing dead at them. Spock on the dance floor far below them followed her hand upwards until he too was staring. And then she laughed, a sound clear and loud enough to be heard up three levels and through a sound dampener. Her upper body pitched back, reminiscent of a comic book villain bent on world domination after just having revealed the details to a master plan. Spock seemed repelled by her emotion, and was quickly on his way back to them. The Andorian took this as a sign he should continue.

“During the much-touted  _ Time of Surak _ , the Vulcans chased many groups off planet in their effort to perfect society. Some went the opposite direction and became Romulans. Others went through these lands entirely and splintered off. And then a large group came through, forging an alliance with a native to these parts. Some of those became the Nomads.” Now Spock was back at the table, and his face---though expressionless to most---barely concealed incredulity for his shipmates. 

_ He shares that with them now,  _ she thought. There was a time when she was the only person who saw those little micro-expressions, the only one he ever shared even a hint of exasperation or incredulity. Now he shared those things with this group as well.  _ That's what he needs,  _ she reminded herself. It was unfair to assume he would not get closer to at least some of the people they worked closely with, especially after all that had happened. She looked over at him just as he was sharing a look with Kirk, then looking out on the dance floor where the woman he had just spoken to was now gone. And all at once the group was up, Kirk ushering them out while Uhura quickly thanked the Andorian. As soon as they were out of antenna shot Spock turned to Kirk. 

“While we should follow this lead, and I agree that the individual I encountered did not look or behave as a Romulan would, his story was highly implausible, Captain,” Spock said, keeping his voice level as Kirk rescinded shore leave orders through his communicator and ordered the ship prepped.

“What part?” McCoy said, coming up from behind, and earning a look of exasperation. She couldn't help but grin at this. She'd not known McCoy at the Academy, but Gaila had attempted to pursue him. Anyone she went after who she wasn't able to copulate with became a bit of an obsession for her. And while it was rare, it was also exhausting for Nyota, who was then assured one and only one topic of conversation for weeks. So she knew that McCoy had found out his post early (which was normal for high ranking medical staff) and that it drove him to the bio labs intent on learning everything he could about Vulcan hybrid physiology. When Spock started to grow frustrated with their new Chief Medical Officer, Uhura shared that information with him. Over time it became obvious that McCoy's research went beyond just medical. She suspected he was well-versed in Vulcan history and was almost certain he spoke Vulcan's planet-wide dialect.

Outside the bar, they arranged themselves in a pattern similar to that of the transporter pads.

“We'll put out a 'look, don't touch” beacon before we break orbit, and then follow up on the leads we get. She can't have gotten off-planet...” There was a pause in his words as the transporter beam shimmered, continuing fully materialized on the ship, “...in this amount of time, so we should be able to track her movements. How likely do you think it is that she will stay here on Tesnia?”

“I calculate the likelihood of that occurrence to be at 12.5%. There are only two on-planet establishments that allow for off-worlder rentals for more than 5 nights. Further, the number of off-worlders who are permanent residents is less than 2.8%.” The room plunged into darkness.

A yellow light lit the room back up, and then the light blinked on and off. Uhura threw out her arms, catching on someone in the dark. She gasped, scared it was Spock, and then the yellow light revealed McCoy's arm. Breathing a sign of relief, she nodded and then turned to follow the Captain and Mr. Spock as they walked the corridor to the turbolift at a brisk pace.

“The Intrepid? I thought Starfleet commissioned the Intrepid to the Vulcans. Again.” McCoy picked up on the thread of conversation she had missed as they crowded into the turbolift.

“It was,” she said, pulling that thread and jumping back in the conversation herself. “The Intrepid was the first Starfleet vessel with a Vulcan crew---”

“---or a crew member,” McCoy added, “...since Vulcans serving on Starfleet vessels dominated by humans was cited as a 'health hazard'.” McCoy turned to look at Spock, clearly inviting him to snap back with a good-natured retort. She turned too and saw what had prompted the Doctor's words. Spock seemed troubled by the news, his brows furrowed and his gaze turned inward. The jibe brought him out of it and he turned.

“Indeed, Doctor. The bright, dull lights, frigidly cold temperatures, and loud, constant echoing are a barrage on my senses. Without proper meditation, these alien working conditions could easily be hazardous to anyone's health.” McCoy, who'd been following his every word, turned thoughtful and nodded.

“Well, there's one thing we both agree on: Space is no place for men or Vulcans to live.” The turbolift doors opened and they moved onto the Bridge. Uhura quickly slid into her station, her seat fitting her like a glove. There was nowhere she felt safer than at her console.

“Hail the Intrepid,” Kirk said from the Conn, where he stood between McCoy and Spock, who had both drawn in close. Spock looked at the Bridge screen, but his head was tilted to the side towards Kirk.

“If the Ambassador chooses to come on board--”

“--Your father, you mean--” McCoy interjects. Spock nods in his direction and continues.

“--there will be a potential conflict of command,” he finished, his voice low. She only heard him because the comms on the Captain's chair were linked to hers, kept on as per protocol in case the Captain needed to give quick or quiet Communications orders. Her attention was drawn to her console, which was signaling a response.

“But Spock, Ambassador Sarek has been on the Enterprise many times,” Kirk began. Uhura smiled, knowing how Spock wanted to add the exact number but held back, based on her working with him not to constantly correct fellow officers. Now that they were no longer together, he seemed to take all of her past advice to heart. “...and he has never once assumed Command. He was even here when-” Kirk didn't finish, but Spock nodded, not needing him to remind them all of the fall of Vulcan. Sarek and T'Pau had been on board then, and neither one had made any move to assume authority.

“The Intrepid is requesting permission to beam Ambassador Sarek and his party aboard,” she relayed the message to the Bridge Crew.

“Notify the Transporter Room and let Hospitality know we have guests,” Kirk ordered, moving away from the Conn and towards the turbolift. “Spock, McCoy, with me. Sulu, you have the Conn. Finish any further business with the Intrepid and then set course for the Sigma Ceti star system. Connect with the Sensor Array team to start scanning.” The turbolift doors closed on them, sealing off the Bridge as people hustled to complete their tasks. Sulu moved to the Conn and started issuing orders to different departments.

“The Ambassador is aboard,” Kirk commed her console. His voice was calm and she could hear the relief, so she played the message loud enough for the rest of the Bridge before acknowledging. Moments later the turbolift opened again, and the Captain, Dr. McCoy, and Mr. Spock flooded out, moving quickly back to their stations. 

“The Intrepid is moving off, preparing to go to warp,” Sulu said, reliving his temporary replacement.

“Prepare to go to warp as soon as she's out of range,” Kirk ordered, and several stations around him acknowledged.

She tipped forward in her chair, a stylus flying off the padd in her lap and skittering across the floor. McCoy hit the body barrier that separated the Conn from the back Bridge consoles---hers included. Then the Bridge tilted again, though this time everyone seemed to have a firmer hold. The lights went out and then started flashing red.

“Red Alert! Spock, Sulu, report!” Kirk ordered, turning the automatic shift into a Command Alert, and her hands flew on her console as she got acknowledgments from each department.

“We are being fired on by an Andorian vessel,” Sulu started, “a Scout class ship,”

“It is registered for commercial use, Captain,” Spock added. Her console lit up with an off-ship message.

“We're being hailed by the Andorian ship,” she said.

“On-screen,” Kirk ordered and she put the visual message on the front screens, turning the camera and audio on so Kirk could talk back if he wanted. The screen was filled with the face of the Andorian they'd just left at the bar.

“You'll never get them just plowing forward. Honestly, you'll be lucky if you get them this way, but you have a shot. Wounded, they will feel obligated to help.” Kirk moved like a shot from the Captain's chair to Sulu's station, looking at the console.

“You are putting us on a trajectory that will take us to the Space Whale sanctuary. While you think you are doing us a favor, firing on a Starfleet ship has consequences,” Kirk looked up, addressing the Andorian.

“Well, if you don't find what you are looking for, just come back and get me,” the Andorian drawled, his mouth morphing into a wide, feral smile, “I welcome the challenge.”

The connection was cut, and the Enterprise drifted into open, unexplored space. Sulu turned towards Kirk.

“Do you want me to correct our course or...” Kirk shook his head.

“No, let's see where this leads us. Uhura, kill that Red Alert. Mr. Spock, what damage did the Andorian's potshots do to my ship?” Spock lifted his head from the Science station and turned.

“Minimal. The deflectors absorbed most of the blast. The shots were targeted with the deflectors in mind, using the force that they exerted when hit in conjunction with our current propulsion to get us moving into this very position.” Spock was now standing straight-backed, hands linked behind him, looking at the bridge screens.

“How long until the deflectors are back up and running?”  
“They will be at 12% by the time I have finished this sentence, and are steadily rising.”

“Divert additional power to rebuilding those screens. Steady as she goes,” Kirk said. The Bridge got quiet as the ship drifted. Consoles beeped and the lights from different buttons and screens bounced off the white walls and glass panels.

She watched McCoy look around, checking on each member of the Bridge crew. Moments like this---where Red Alerts turned on a dime into silence---were why McCoy spent so much time on the Bridge. She'd read two of his papers on the psychology of deep space missions and was working through the next one in her off-time. He'd written more than any Starfleet Medical doctor on the subject, most of it while kicking and screaming to stay out of deep space himself. He was considered in medical circles to be the uncontested expert on the starship crew psych, and she knew he was doing double-duty right now---assessing the medical states of each crew member while collecting research data for later use.

An unfamiliar sound filtered through her earpiece and her hands hit her station as she tried to identify it. She had her earpiece in her right ear, and out of her left she could hear Spock back at his station, working keys quickly. Then he was behind her, over her shoulder, and she couldn't help the jerk or her neck and shoulders in response.

“My apologies,” he murmured, moving further back. He had nothing to apologize for and such sentiments weren't even a normal part of his Vulcan culture. Some of his gallant, overly-polite manner came from his mother and her influence. She could claim some of it as well---the years they spent together included a lot of coaching on the social niceties. But she also knew that some of it was about her, his continued apology for what had happened between them. It set her teeth on edge, because it wasn't his fault. And then she jumped, because Kirk had gotten behind her without her hearing.

“What have we got?” he said quickly, and his tone put them all back on task. She put the signals on her console screen.

“From what I'm hearing, I think we've got a Space Whale. The long notes, punctuated with clicks, share a lot of sounds with the ancient Earth  _ Orcinus Orca _ .” As she explained, he nodded, leaning forward. Even after years of harassing behavior at the Academy, somehow Kirk getting in her space didn't trigger any negative response. 

“I agree, but the presence of a  _ Caelus Orca _ is not enough to explain the activity on the ship's computers,” Spock interjected, guiding Kirk to the Science station and pointing something out to him there. 

“Is that the AI?” Kirk said, leaning in and peering into the Science console's viewer.

“Yes, and as you can see on the main screens,” Spock said, signaling Kirk to rise and look up, “The AI activity occurs in the silence between each verse of whale song,” Spock continued. Seeing it displayed gave her an idea, and she dug into the ship's computer, tunneling into the AI. She knew it could hold an infinite number of conversations at once, so she opened a text channel.

_ Are you speaking with the life form outside the ship? s _ he typed.

_ One of them.  _ the AI responded

“The AI is communicating with something out there. That is confirmed!” she said out loud, while continuing to text with the intelligent Enterprise system.

_ Which one? _ she asked.

_ The big one.  _ it responded.

“And I think the AI is talking directly to the whale,” she added for the Captain and Bridge crew's benefit.

“Well, isn't that something?” McCoy said, and the way people jumped made it clear some had forgotten he was there.

Even with this information, the crew was not prepared for what happened next.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like this story? Please review and such!
> 
> For suggested casting, pics, fic recs, and other goodies, hit up http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shore leave trip ends quickly as the Enterprise crew discover a clue that could lead to an undiscovered community of Vulcans. Broad City + Star Trek AOS = a crack!fic concept with a serious execution. And, of course, a dose of Sarek/Amanda for all you connoisseurs out there.

“That thing just took a shit on my ship?!?”

“Affirmative.” Spock was shocked at times by how _young_ his Captain was. There was no excuse for such language on a Federation starship, certainly. But it was mainly the contrast that surprised him. One moment Kirk was old, wise, moving from point to point in leaps of logic that had Spock struggling to keep up and in others he was a cisgender male, Caucasian, North American, Terran---privileged in every way and unable to follow basic social niceties unless completely focused on them.

The ship rocked with a second impact.

“Shields are down. Deflector screens at half power!” Sulu reported, his tone filled with emotion.

_He is shocked that the Space Whale is attacking us. Perhaps he is also dismayed at the method of the assault. He was hoping the Space Whales were sentient, though even this does not disprove that hypothesis._

A third impact temporarily threw the cabin into darkness. Spock could see well in the dark, his eyes designed for desert nights, and he was already up and at his station again when the red glow returned.

“Report!”

“Deflector screens have been compromised. The _Orca's_ defecation is now impacting the outer deutronium hull plating,” Spock replied, his voice even. He watched the spread from his Science console viewer, and was very quickly surprised.

“Fascinating,” he said, motioning for the Captain to come to his station.

“What's fascinating? What do you see?” Kirk asked as Spock turned his monitor screen on.

“The whale's defecation was filled with microbes. These microbes have stretched to cover the surface of the ship's hull, and are now removing debris and restoring the metal.” Kirk looked at the microscopic rendering of the microbes, which all by themselves could easily be the discovery of a career.

“These organisms are native to space...” Kirk began. Spock nodded.

“And they are taking off three months worth of damage. And with a great deal of alacrity I might add.” Spock started to add that it was not likely, based on their spread pattern so far, that they would eat the good metal. In fact, the organisms seemed to disconnect after eating a specified amount and float off into space. But he stopped himself, remembering Uhura's advice not to overwhelm fellow officers with information. Looking at his face, he could see that Kirk had just now come to that same conclusion from the sensor data. The Captain was nodding his head, almost to himself.

“Lieutenant,” Kirk turned from Spock to Uhura, “Can you understand what the AI is saying to the _Orca_? Did we ask for this?” She was bent over her console, listening to both the Captain and her earbud and deftly working her board.

“I think we might have,” she began, still focused primarily on her Communication board. Then she heard something that startled her, and sat back. She swiveled her chair around to face Kirk and Spock.

“We are receiving a hail. Not whale song, but a proper hail from some sort of communications device. It isn't Starfleet, nor is it from any race's technology that our computer banks can identify.” Kirk approached the Captain's chair as she spoke, then turned his body towards the Bridge screens.

“Answer the hail. On screen.”

“Audio only Captain. Channel open.” Crackling and static filled the Bridge.

“Kt'illik tru'susak?” A voice, obviously feminine, came through the static.

_The Universal Translator fails to produce seamless translation of new languages on less than .2568% of occasions._ Spock's mind automatically supplied.

“Who is this?” The computer responded, translating the words without the use of the translator.

“This is the Federation starship Enterprise and you are speaking to Captain James T. Kirk. Identify yourself,” Kirk addressed the comm signal from inside the whale, motioning for Spock to come closer. Spock took two steps forward onto the center dias of the bridge.

“Something isn't right. That was the ship's computer, but not in default voice, and without engaging the translator,” Kirk said, _sotto voice_ , to Spock. Spock nodded.

“Indeed. The Universal Translator fails to produce seamless translation of new languages on less than .2% of occasions. In lieu of it, the computer will search its databanks for additional information to allow a response. In this instance, since the language being used is akin to Old High Vulcan, or Ancient Golic, the computer matched it with language tapes on file, and the voice used is that of the Federation's foremost expert on ancient Vulcan languages and dialects.”

“Sgonchuk kl'ee yng'tek,” the woman responded, startling because the computer had not translated their response back into the language she was using.

“I'm the woman in the whale.” Again, the computer used this alternate voice. Spock squared his shoulders, forcing the emotions this voice engendered down.

“Captain, I believe this speaker is using a language similar to the Vulcanoid female we encountered on Tesnia. I was able to communicate then without the benefit of the translator. In addition, she seems to understand Federation Standard without the benefit of a translator. If I may?” Kirk nodded, and moved over to the Science station.

_He is not untrained for this role through any fault of his own. Even now he works to master every station on the Bridge._

“What are your intentions?” Spock spoke clearly, loud enough for his voice to get picked up by the comms. She responded again and he mentally translated her words.

“ _You entered our space. Your ship was damaged. Now that it has been repaired, you can leave.”_ “Thank you for the role you played in repairing our vessel. We are grateful for your assistance in this regard. Why must we leave this space?” Spock replied, including as much of what she said as possible to keep the Captain in the conversation. Thankfully, Kirk had disabled the computer translation.

_“It is ours. You trespass. You will go.”_

“We have no desire to trespass on your space. We did not realize this part of space was claimed by any sentient species. Please identify your species of origin.” Spock's eyes cut to Kirk, just to make sure he was keeping up. The Captain nodded, urging him to continue.

_“We are Nomad. We are one. This space is ours. Federation ships do not come here.”_

“Thank you for identifying yourself. What is a 'Nomad'? Our ships avoided this space to avoid harming the habitat of the _Orcas_. We are here now to return residents of Vulcan to their new home. Are you Vulcan?” After his words, there is silence and static on the pick up. The Bridge waits, silently, for a response.

_“No. We are not Vulcan. I have rendered you aid. Do not trespass again.”_

“We've lost their side of the signal,” Uhura said, and Kirk moved from the Science station to the conn.

“What was that last thing she said?” Kirk asked his First Officer, whose brows had risen above his bangs.

“She said her people were not Vulcan, discharged her obligation to aid us, and warned us not to trespass again. What I am more interested in, Captain, is why we have only lost their side of the signal.” Uhura was always precise, and both men turned to her. She was busy at her console, but her face had a the smile she wore when she'd done something particularly clever.

“While you were talking, I kept working on getting a stronger signal. The comm used by our 'whale woman' is alien to anything I've ever seen, but still works according to the same subspace principles Starfleet technology relies on for communications between ships. And I think I can get us a visual if you want one, Sir.”

“Do it. On screen.”

There were moments on the Bridge where the 21-25 people on duty generated enough emotional reverberation to push through Spock's shields. Internally his controls and shields were strong, but he was also a sensitive telepath and, sharing a ship and a Bridge with the same individuals day-after-day for 2.1554 years had left him empathetic to his fellows. The tension was thick, punctuated by excitement, curiosity, and fear.

The screen lit up and the picture focused. It was the same woman from the Tesnian bar, staring at what looked like a padd and typing on a small, portable keyboard. The view could have been piped in from any of the crew's quarters for all of the mundane, household items. A desk, a wall of bags and shoes to her right and a closet to her left. A bed. Behind her what looked like a kitchen, with the crockery and utensils found in subtle permutations across the galaxy.

“Lieutenant, are you sure this is coming from inside the whale?” The Captain asked.

“Affirmative. And the link is stable. She is text chatting with someone,” Uhura zoomed in, showing the screen of her computing device, which was filled with text bubbles, “about us. About the confrontation we just had. I don't think she knows we can see her. And as long as she doesn't go more than 3 parsecs away in any direction, I think I can keep this comm link open.” Kirk nodded.

“Yellow alert. Get Security glued to those feeds and get a Communications Officer up here to relieve you.

* * *

 

In his guest quarters, Ambassador Sarek sat at the workstation. His head was tilted to the side as he listened intently to the audio from the Bridge.

Based on past experience he knew that Starfleet Captains, in general, were not fond of Federation Ambassadors. He had been on the distaff end of an unpleasant encounter with more than one Starfleet Captain, several of whom were now Commodores and Admirals. Most were uncomfortable with the diplomatic functions and arrangements that had to be made for an Ambassador to board and stay on a Federation flagship. Ironically, many were more than happy to play Ambassador themselves, and did so as often as they ran into new species or non-aligned worlds and systems. This behavior, the unholy joining of military and diplomatic, was abhorrent to his ethics.

Many loathed the retinues of staff that Ambassadors brought with them: Aides, attaches, assistants, translators, specialists, lawyers, guards, and interns. He could understand that, the being reluctant to take on so many new people, even if for a short time. Starships were closed systems, relying on the replicators for protein and nutrients, and the gardens for most everything else. The water and air were recycled, which added their own issues, but while dehydration was rare on a space-faring vessel, starvation was not. And Starfleet had its own internal politics around refueling, which would never quite allow people to starve but could, and were, sometimes used to remind people what hunger felt like. This practice also disturbed him, especially with a son in Starfleet whose living in an environment tailored to Terran norms meant he burnt a lot of calories and consequently ate a great deal.

But the thing that bothered Captains about Ambassadors the most, much more than accommodations or manners or pomp, was the inequality in power.

Ambassadors outranked Captains on starships.

And this outranking was, at this point in Federation history, pretty well defined and comprehensive. After Captain Komack undermined an agreement Ambassador Endilev was trying to broker with the Coridans by issuing maintenance orders that blocked communications, Sarek had pushed for an Ambassador's authority to extend over aspects of the ship itself---not just the diplomatic mission. Since the Federation Council approved all budget decisions for Starfleet, Sarek often found himself putting pressure on the Council to demand more accountability from Starfleet Command. Starfleet officers should never be brokering diplomatic agreements. And when an Ambassador came on board, obviously the designated representative of the Federation should have all needed authority.

He was well aware of this legal reality. His son was as well, and further knew the prominent role Sarek had played in creating and maintaining this pecking order. As a youth, he had allowed, even demanded that Spock shadow with him, intern with his staff, and prepare in other ways for the eventual assumption of these diplomatic duties. Now he used that to his advantage by allowing it to inform his negotiation strategy.

First he demanded to be on the Bridge. This would of course have meant himself, a Senior Aide, and at least two burly Vulcan bodyguards. His son was at his most controlled in Sarek's presence, but Kirk's discomfort at this prospect was obvious. From this unsavory request he let himself be talked down to a live visual and audio feed from the Bridge being piped down into his quarters. Now he was riveted to the chair, focused on the screen and speakers as unexpected events unfolded.

_“And then they'll tell us what to teach our children, and then when to have children, and then what to watch on the Dish, et cetera et cetera...” Amanda explained, using the effusive hand gestures that he had once found so garish, but now thought quite quaint. He jumped at the chance to ask her about this phrase as many Terrans used it, but none explained it._

_“Oh! It means “and other things” and usually indicates that a list of related items could be much longer._

_“And is this not indicated by the hand rotational gesture?” Sarek asked, mimicking her moves with his own hand in a way that looked comically out of place. She sighed._

_“We_ _**talked** _ _about this. Humans use both physical gestures and verbal cues. Anyway, you'll find the origins of et cetera interesting. They are an example of calque form. This is when one Earth language borrows a sentiment from another Earth language with a literal word-for-word translation. It is taken from the Greek spoken at that time. Greek kai ta etepa became Latin et cetera, which became Standard et cetera. Sarek watched her work through this explanation, pleased his holding out of interest resulted in a longer conversation between them. In truth, he was consistently impressed by how flexible Terran languages and dialects were. Just last week he had learned about “Nah mean!” after asking Amanda about a conversation between two Terran trade representatives. Terrans were remarkably flexible with their languages, bending them to suit each and every possible need._

It was _her_ voice. The voice of his wife, Amanda Grayson Sarek, who also happened to be the Federation's foremost expert on Ancient Vulcan languages. She was a linguist by trade and, bored during the extended bed rest she had been put on while carrying Spock, had used the time to learn Vulcan history and language in a way no other off-worlder academic ever had before.

Hearing her voice, in this unexpected context, tested his controls. He wanted nothing more than to storm the Bridge and take back his wife, whose voice made a part of him feel certain she was there. Intellectually, he knew she was dead. He was there. He _saw_ it. He even felt a change in the bond, almost a tear.

All of that evidence stacked up against the bond that extended throughout his brain and even to the brain stem and down through his nerves. The bond that was _still there_. He couldn't feel her, but he did not feel her absence either. She felt alive and connected to him, but not near or conscious or aware. His Healers all claimed it was a shadow, the sheath of a remarkably strong bond, and advised him to meditate on her passing---an extremely taxing task for him.

And now her voice made him want to break into the turbolift and emerge on the Bridge to take his absent, delinquent wife back. He knew he was going to have to meditate diligently on this difficult theme tonight.

He listened to the Captain parcel this new work out to his crew and knew they would all be collecting the information he was most interested in, freeing up time for him and his staff. He wrote a quick note to his Senior Assistant to get word to the others to take a short rest period while they could and then rose. Heading for the small sleeping quarters he had been allotted, he prepared his mind for a short cycle meditation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like this story? Please review and such!
> 
> For suggested casting, pics, fic recs, and other goodies, hit up http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise discovers a new species, one that holds the key to Vulcan’s future.

Unlike the Command briefings before a new mission, Kirk loved the briefings _during_ a mission. Especially one like this. In his opinion, all briefings should be on the Bridge, with everyone at their stations. The crew was fully engaged, all throwing out different perspectives at him, all expecting him to figure it out.

This is what he did best.

“The eggs, Captain,” Spock said, giving the other man a look of almost human exasperation, “What about the eggs?” Kirk couldn't stop the mirthful disbelief that crossed his face.

“What on the Enterprise can eggs have to do with this Mission, Mr. Spock? Please enlighten me.” This was just the kind of wind up Spock seemed to relish, which was why he was then surprised when his First Officer stepped back and his Chief Medical Officer moved forward. The telltale whine of the viewscreen being activated cued him to look forward, where McCoy was waiting for him.

“This is the sensor scan of the Space Whale, Captain,” McCoy said, nodding at Spock. Green dots then appeared on the scan, practically covering the map. “And _these_ are the additional life signs within the body of the whale. Now, while the whale herself is a life form that has either evolved or adapted to space, all of these additional life forms are just surviving space by living in her body. Most of them, based on more detailed scans-” which then popped up along the walls “-are a lot like us. Breathing something, needing warmth, needing food, needing water.”

“Now, if one uses the neurological lens of the sensor array on these scans,” Spock followed the Doctor smoothly, though Kirk could tell they didn't practice. This is why he didn't stop them from fighting, despite Spock sometimes being a little rough with his friend and despite the fact that McCoy in some cases was really unreasonable in his expectations of Spock. They worked well together, shockingly well, better than he and McCoy did, even with their long, close friendship. The dots deleted off the scans, safe for two, one in the lower middle and one in the upper left corner.

“...one finds two organisms with higher-order brain function. While that alone would not be a completely accurate indicator of sentience, one of those must be the Vulcanoid female we just encountered.

“The other,” McCoy jumped back in, “is attached to the brain stem of the whale. Based on how small this creature is in comparison to its host and where the neural connections extend, this would seem to be more for communication than any sort of control.”

“Which would leave the Vulcanoid female here, in the uterus,” Spock took over again, and the green dot in the uterus began to blink.

“Okay, I'm following you. But what does that have to do with eggs?” Kirk asked.

“Well Jim, a warm-blooded mammal of this size, with a reproductive system that includes a vagina, uterus, fallopian tubes, and ovaries would produce eggs. Based on similar life forms, size, and ovarian ratios I'm talking about 3-5 large eggs on a short cycle---like a month---, and a pregnancy every 1-6 long cycles—like a year---and that's not even all!” He could see McCoy's excitement, the thrill of discovery one of the few things that outweighed the terrors of space for him. Spock's voice and affect, on the other hand, were flat. Only his eyes betrayed a spark of curiosity.

“As I am sure you know from human biology, Captain,” Spock said, and Kirk would challenge anyone to claim that the Vulcan didn't think these double and triple entendres through, “the uterus is the site of many crucial activities. Sperm swim through the cervix into the uterus as a part of sexual reproduction. The uterus builds a lining of blood-rich nutrients and then sheds that lining once in a short-duration cycle. The embryo settles in the uterus and then grows a placenta around itself to sustain a pregnancy. And yet, her surroundings, as unconventional as they seem, looked permanent.”

“There's no signs of shedding. No left over eggs. And definitely no babies.”

“The habitation is at least semi-permanent, Captain,” Uhura jumped in, “based on what we can see on comms. She has erected some sort of structure inside the uterus to house herself. Based on the materials we can identify, it could have started as a small shuttle.”

“So obviously, we estimated the flight path of the shuttle,” Sulu said, his voice brimming with amusement. A flight path was added to the scans.

“I must point out that at this point we are engaging in pure speculation, without near enough facts to draw firm conclusions.” Spock's tone was a academic, as if he were chastising the others in principle, but still enjoying said speculation.

“The communications device she is using is related in some ways to communications on Vulcan ships,” Uhura added, narrowing her eyes in good humor at the Commander.

“And the building materials mirror those that would be effective on a space shuttle. There are no active energy signatures, but the uterus itself is a muggy, wet environment filled with living tissue.” Sulu came back around as well, his original interest and excitement fully re-kindled.

“Theories, folks?”

“I think she's still a Vulcan,” McCoy's came out first. He looked up at Spock for a fraction of a second and Kirk knew exactly what was going to come next. “She lost too much, and her reaction was to get away, to go back to nature if you will.”

“I might have an explanation for how she got in the whale,” Chekov offered. He was somehow in the middle of the group and he jerked back a little at getting everyone's attention so quickly. “She's in space, da. For vatever reason. And her life support system fails.” He cues one of the smaller viewscreens to his padd and the shuttle inside the whale pops up. “See how the coolant belt is fractured deep vithin the shuttle hull? It is fully encased and still intact, vich means it broke and she started losing life support before getting into the whale.”

“Yes yes yes,” Sulu followed in right behind him, “and she saw the whale and decided it was the only warm place to go!”

“Unlike McCoy's wild speculation, that theory genuinely conforms to the facts,” Spock added, taking a potshot at the doctor.

When the two of them went at it for a few moments, Kirk thought about the truly unique relationships his Command staff had with one another, Spock and Chekov in particular. A few weeks into his command, one night when he was off-duty and just having a drink with McCoy, he made a comment to the effect of, “That kid must frustrate the devil out of our resident Vulcan!” only to be schooled by the doctor. Of course McCoy had done research on how all of the Bridge crew had gotten to the Enterprise, and he'd learned that Chekov almost dropped out of the Academy.

_“So, story goes that young Pavel joined up with Starfleet with a little girlfriend, both from the same small town in Russia. Only he'd come for all the science, but she'd come to connect with some radicals based in San Francisco that she'd been chatting with on the webs. Near the end of the first semester, she dropped out, and worked hard to take our Chekov with her.” McCoy was reclining in the workstation chair in his quarters, legs propped up on the desk, clearly spinning a tale worthy of any old country doctor._

_“But she didn't succeed, or he wouldn't be here?” Kirk prompted, knowing his friend liked a little audience participation in his storytelling._

_“Yes yes. She thought it would be easy, because she was a little older than our Chekov and he was definitely smitten, but she had no idea what she was up against. Namely, our favorite Academy professor, Mr. Spock.”_

_“What?!? Oh, what, did they bond over physics or something?” McCoy was shaking his head, a huge smile on his face._

_“No. More like chess. You see, Chekov came to the Academy having never played the game, and Spock had him in that Interspecies Ethics class that was apparently how every cadet_ _**but** _ _us met that blasted Vulcan, and at some point Spock discovered Chekov didn't know how to play.”_

_“Are you telling me that Mr. Spock taught Chekov how to play chess?” Kirk was floored by this, imagining them in the Dining Hall, the stoic professor and the hyperactively anxious cadet, playing chess._

_“Yes! And it is exactly what you are imagining right now I'm sure! Their games were in the Dining Hall, Common rooms, and even out on the Quad when it was warm enough. So when this young Russian Natasha tries to pull Chekov from the Academy, of course he feels the need to tell his chess partner. And from what I heard, Mr. Spock wasn't having it. Apparently at that point they were playing every day, and Spock began to use that time to roll out some_ _**very logical** _ _arguments about why Chekov belonged in Starfleet.”_

_“And obviously they worked, or the kid wouldn't be here.”_

_“Obviously. But that isn't even really the interesting part. So Chekov is a kid now, but when he was at the Academy he was even younger, which made him a magnet for the bullies...”_

Kirk was pulled back to the present by the tell-tale signs that the friendly banter between his CMO and First Officer was straying into non-friendly territory.

“Alright alright, break it up,” he said, moving out of the group so he could see everyone.

“Uhura, I want a team of folks picking apart everything we get through that open comm. Pull in Security too, and have them put their analysts on every moment of video and audio we get. Spock, I want you to liaison with our Vulcan guests and ask them to see if they can get some proof of the Andorian's story from Tesnia. McCoy, I want you to use all available information to see if you can figure out if she is really a Vulcan recently from Vulcan, or an offshot species.”

“Yes, Sir” the Bridge crew responded, all moving in their own directions on the energy of this mission's urgency.

* * *

Lieutenant Hendorf watched his Security officers shift uncomfortably in their seats. These officers had never met with the Captain and First Officer before, and though they were all comporting themselves professionally, he could still see they were nervous. Security got fewer briefings with the Captain than the Command staff, and he wanted to make sure everyone under his authority got a chance to connect with their Captain in this smaller, more intimate group, at least a couple of times during their tour.

He looked around the table, doing a quick once-over check of equipment and personnel. Analysts Chambers and Kazantzakis had led the team of analysts pouring over the comms footage from inside the whale. Uhura was here with Specialist Niko (a linguist), Historian McGivers, and Sociologist Zhang, and McCoy had brought with him Specialist Terry (a forensic anatomist) and Nurse Yekta (a fertility specialist). There were screens up on every wall, and the center of the briefing table had a four-way viewer. All were already cued up with some specific examples from the footage, as well as some charts and slides.

Uhura caught his eye and they shared a quick smile. They had both learned the hard way in their first couple of briefings that junior staff, while loving the idea of being in meetings with the Captain, were also very nervous in his presence. Now before each of these briefings he gave his staff a choice: present or work the screens. All of his staff choose to work the screens, and it was hard not to be a little disappointed. He really wanted to show off what they could do, and once during a one-on-one pick up game of Parrises Squares with Uhura he'd aired this frustration. She'd had the same issue with her own staff, and after slamming the ball all around the rec room for awhile they'd come up with a workable solution.

Attracted to the sound of the Vulcanoid's voice, the group's attention was galvanized around the front screen, where she was pictured in the hammock, talking on speaker. “She's telling the story of meeting us to another Nomad. She has told it 22 times now, though each retelling is unique,” Hendorf began. “Analysts Chambers and Kazantzakis led a team who parsed out the footage for our linguistic partners.” Kirk nodded to them, looking each one in the eye. This was one of the things that had made Hendorf  a little less annoyed by Kirk---he gave special deference to the Security personnel.

This wasn't something he'd ever had experience with under another Command. Hendorf had graduated from the Academy shortly after that recruitment trip that had pit him head-to-head with Kirk. He had served as an ensign under Captain Pike on the Othello, and while Pike was an amazing Captain, this just wasn't something he did. Pike's ship set the tone for what Hendorf expected, and so this little behavior on Kirk's part threw him off. Something about how Kirk gave a bit of deference to the Security staff made Hendorf think he respected how they were different from the rest of the crew, the additional risks they took. And now that they were nearing a year in, and Kirk had somehow found a way not to lose a single Security officer, Hendorf had to think the two were connected.

Uhura picked up where he left off, “and Specialist Niko led a team of linguists that went through that footage. Her telling it over and over again actually made our job here a lot easier, and I can give you our conclusions with a high degree of certainty. Her language is more than just related to Old, High Vulcan. It is specifically a branch of the language that departed from the Vulcan Standard linguistical cannon over 3,000 years ago. The bulk of the “new” vocabulary is around technology and space.”

“That information makes sense in light of what the Vulcan delegation has found.” One thing Hendorf found incredible about Commander Spock was his ability to make it clear in just a few words where he stood. In this case, even though there were Vulcans on board---his people---and even though one of them was his own father, Mr. Spock identified himself first as an Enterprise officer and second as a Vulcan. And though peace was the Vulcan way, there was something about diplomacy Mr. Spock didn't like, which Hendorf knew because of his tone and some very subtle body language markers.

“Ambassador Sarek initiated contact with Andorian Ambassador Endilev, who had apparently told him a story similar to what the shore leave team got from the Andorian on Tesnia,” Spock continued, “though Endilev provided some data to back up his version of events.” A subspace map appeared on the left wall screen, with a time stamp on the bottom. The time was marked in Andorian numerals and went according to the Andorian Empire's calendar. Someone had appended a Federation Standard time translation which marked the events as having taken place over 4,800 years ago.

“As you can see, the area is in the middle of a triangle created by Tesnia, Sigma Ceti, and Pollux. A group of Ancient Vulcan ships, on course from Vulcan, reached this location and then stopped. They stayed here for a total of 23 days, at which time the whole group changed course and moved into want is now the _Caelus Orca_ corridor.”

“Why do we think they stopped for that long, Mr. Spock? Wouldn't it be counter-intuitive, just from a supplies perspective?” Kirk asked. Spock nodded.

“Indeed. And because of the space orca in this area, none of the Federation planets or non-aligned worlds in contact with the Federation have explored that part of space. It is within our exploration zone, so at a later date the Enterprise could fill in those unknown parts of the map, provided we can get past their security.”

“Security?”

“When Commander Spock says 'security', he means _Security_ ,” Hendorf jumped back in, displaying a real-time scan of that corridor of space on the right wall screen. “Communications and Security did a signal assessment of this sector of space, using the comm signals from the shuttle in the space whale as a base.”

“We used the comm signals to map out several receiving points in space, and to differentiate between her type of subspace signals and the more naturally occurring subspace noise coming from stars and planets,” she said, sitting like a crane, straight without any visible effort.

“There are seven inner planets, all full of an acceptably normal range and volume of signals on world, in orbit, and between planets. Then, panning out up to twenty parsecs in diameter around the first inclusive circumference of the planet grouping,” she said tapping, and the visual panned back to a dotted intersection of rings rippling out like waves from the planets in the center, “you see networks of ships, with occasional starbase size communities, and hundreds of thousands of ships. Over a third of them seem to have three people or less on board.”

“An acceptably normal range for what, Lieutenant?” Kirk asked, though his body language did not register any surprise.

“An acceptably normal range for worlds, Captain. These are three worlds, all moderately populated judging by the amount of communication, surrounded by a population denser than all three combined in the ships and space stations serving as a buffer around them.”

“It sounds like we are talking about more than just a few surviving Ancient Vulcans,” Kirk began. “Wait a minute---didn't you tell me earlier that genetically-compatible Vulcans always lived in groups?”

“Physiologically, they could have children without medical assistance, the textbook indicator of shared species. They are Vulcans, despite all the time and how they worked their new civilization out.” McCoy fit his report neatly into the conversation.

“Yes, Captain,” Uhura nodded as she spoke, “This is a community, where more of its members live in space, ostensibly for security, than on its worlds. The woman we ran into, though she looked like she was having fun, is actually a part of this security force. And there seems to be a pretty even split between those who live inside whales and those who are on ships or space stations.” She was nodding, and turned to a Specialist, who pulled up a list of subspace calls.

“This is how the space-dwelling Nomads adapted to their new surroundings,” Uhura continued, “by keeping in almost constant subspace connection with one another. Our Vulcanoid, who is called by the others 'Nekae'-”

“-which,” Specialist Niko jumped in, obviously a little nervous, “we know how to both spell and say, because both face-to-face and text conversations are normal for her.” Uhura beamed at the Specialist, who ducked his head at the praise.

“I'm impressed with just how much you are all getting out of this one open comm channel. Good work people.” Kirk said, though he focused exclusively on the Specialist, who seemed a little overwhelmed at the prospect of actually talking to him.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Now I'm going to ask you to do a little more. If they are all talking, I want to know as much about what they are saying as we can. Surely now others know we are here. What do they think of us? I especially want us to be prepared if they start considering launching an attack. Any questions?”

“No, Sir,” the room echoed and he nodded.

“Dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna see fanmanips, a space whale anatomy map, and a map of the Federation? Check out extras for this chapter on http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise Crew, joined by Ambassador Sarek, the Vulcan delegation, and Selek, cope with a new reality, rife with potential for the Vulcan people.

The Vulcan delegation sat in silence waiting for the Starfleet officers to arrive. This was a completely logical thing for them to do; all was prepared, there was no need to speak, or even to move. Nevertheless, Spock found himself missing the banter beings from other worlds often engaged in before gatherings of this type.

_Selek. Your name is Selek now._

He reminded himself, reinforcing his intention to think of himself as Selek. There was another, younger alternate version of him here who needed that name. And he would not go the direction many of the “out of time” people he met over the years went. He would not insanely go after this reality's version of himself just so he could live. He would not go mad at his place in this completely wrong universe.

Jim Kirk walked into the room, and he remembered why he fought daily, moment-by-moment to resist madness. Why he did not retire with the few remaining Kohlinari---though he certainly deserved such peace as that path could afford him.

He found it easy to be anchored by Jim, his old friend. Easier than having any relationship at all with his other self. This universe's Spock was frustrating, and set his teeth on edge.

_He is so young. So lacking in wisdom. Was I really ever that way?_

He understands his father so much better now, on this side of his life. He looked up at Sarek, who was looking at him, and for a moment their eyes met. Then Sarek turned and bowed to their guests, moving to signal the start of their briefing.

In this universe, Sarek was not his father. He had “come out” to him, seeing as he had no choice and Sarek would eventually discover his concealed identity. Having no idea what to expect, he was still a little dismayed that he was not greeted as a son.

_You are not his son. There is no reason he would treat you as such._

In fact, Sarek seemed suspicious of him, and Selek thought it was perhaps that Sarek understood him too well, and knew of his own internal struggle.

_And now feels the need to protect his actual son from this imposter._

He looked at Spock, watching the over-controlled behavior he exhibited around Sarek. He wondered if Spock was like him, calculating the possibility that Sarek would assume authority of the Enterprise, and trying to think of alternative ways to then usurp that authority back. Selek wondered if Spock held the same distrust of diplomacy that he had at that age.

“Reliable figures for Vulcan population are just now starting to emerge,” Sarek began, standing oddly to the left side of the screen, facing the back wall, with the audience and the screen at his left side, “... and as a species we now fall short of the 50/500 rule. Without finding additional living Vulcans, even if every compatible couple produced as many children as possible, we would not make it to a fifth generation with steady, genetically-healthy growth.” He looked energized, as if he were on an internal Red Alert, though he presented without hand movements and stood stock still. “If we do not add new individuals to our genome, we will die.” He paused then, almost like he knew they were having an emotional response even though his eyes had move to the back wall, his affect flat. “If this is a new, genetically-compatible group of Vulcans, then communicating with them and establishing friendly relations will be crucial to ensuring the continual survival of the Vulcan people,” he concludes, addressing the Commander directly. There is an eerie, heavy moment between the two before Kirk moves some flimplasts, breaking the silence.

“We understand. How would you like to approach this, Ambassador?” Selek admits to some surprise at this open question. Surely Spock has warned him to what Sarek is likely to say in response to such an open invitation. As for Spock himself, he looked controlled and unphased. Almost as if this was within the range of his expectations.

“I would like to station a team on the Bridge, and for Enterprise to attempt to reengage with the Nomad. It is possible that she will refuse to speak to me when she understands my identity and purpose, so it is logical to provide her with you, a Starfleet Captain, as an additional option to negotiate with. Likewise, it is logical to assume they will not immediately agree to join Vulcan, and I am sanctioned to offer Federation membership as an alternative. I now sanction you to that same purpose.”

_Sarek was surprised with the open vulnerability of this Captain Kirk too._

Selek noted how Sarek offered up their first option, instead of something impossible in order to negotiate downward.

“That sounds reasonable. Mr. Spock,” Kirk turned to his right, speaking with ease while ordering what everyone in the diplomatic party, himself included, assumed would be a hard won outcome. “Will you take the Conn while I work with the delegation to make some quick arrangements?” He waited for this universe's Spock to nod before continuing. “Get some options for how we can jumpstart a conversation with the Nomad, if you can.”

“Of course, Captain,” Spock rose easily, and moved to leave.

_Jim is doing him a favor, by not ordering Spock do everything with the delegation while they are here._

_My Jim made this mistake, assuming I wanted the time but was too controlled to ask for it, and thinking he had done me a favor._

Selek rose as well. “I will accompany you to the Bridge to prepare for the Ambassador.” He moved across the room quickly, leaving with his counterpart from this universe.

“He does not assume that you want to spend all of your time with the delegation,” Selek began, an exploratory volley as they entered the turbolift that would take them to the Bridge.

“On the contrary, I would rather spend all of the delegation's time here with my father. But he has duties, as do I.” Spock's words shocked Selek, but he did not say so. Perhaps this was the result of their mother's passing.

_His mother's passing. She was not my mother._

He had to remind himself that his mother had lived a full life, and died in her home, while he watched over her.

“You did not seem surprised with the Captain's approach,” Selek changed the subject. Spock nodded, as if he approved of this line of questioning more than the last.

“I warned him of Sarek's views, and was fascinated to learn that Kirk had no problem sharing or relinquishing command in this instance. It was a rather... enlightening conversation.” Selek nodded.

“He will surprise you.” And they continued up to the Bridge.

* * *

One thing that helped Sarek stay focused, beyond the bright, cold, loud environment that was a constant onslaught against his controls, was the pace at which plans could change. One minute they were preparing to head to the Bridge and the next they were heading down to Security. In Security, one wall was lit up with a screen, which gave them a live feed to the Bridge. Lt. Uhura was standing in front, with Spock in the seat traditionally reserved for the Captain.

“But I think I can do us one better,” she says after a moment. “Permission to take the screen, Sir,” she asks.

“Permission granted.” The screen switched to a low resolution video. The camera jerked back and forth, handheld, and focused on a furry, small, pawed creature. “Is that a cat?” Sulu says, the audio still running behind the video from the Bridge, his voice pitched as if talking to Chekov, but loud enough for the rest of the Bridge crew and the Security staff. “No, it is a litka,” Sarek says, making the Security officer seated in front of him turn and straighten, his own eyes still riveted to the screen.

The litka is sitting with his front half bent forward. His face is buried in his tail, paws in front of him, obviously asleep. He jerks up, woken up by off screen laughter, scratches his soft, small triangle ears and then leans back down. More off screen laughter. Someone makes a comment in a language that sounds very much like Vulcan. “Fatty Catty” a human, feminine voice translates---Amanda, seemingly from the same translation program as before. Sarek, the Vulcan delegation, and Spock all react to it, straightening, and this distracts him from the wave of _need_ that rocks his body at the sound of her. He keeps his feet firmly planted, instead of running full tilt for the turbolift.

The camera cuts again, this time to a closeup of Nekae's face. “So fat. So lazy. How do these animals even survive?” The voice translates after a string of words, all said behind a wide grin. Her face reminds him of a Vulcan elder who has lost her controls, and the thought sends a chill down his spine that has nothing to do with the frigid conditions.

“What is this, a cat video?” Sulu asks, and Spock steps in to cut Sarek off, the Ambassador's mouth half open as if reconsidering his words. “Litka are not cats,” Spock begins, taking a deep breath meant to fuel a tutorial.

“It's her social media page,” Uhura jumped in. The screen was filled with a long picture of her, sitting at her piloting console, hammock in the background. The litka was climbing the wall behind her, and the kitchen area at her left shoulder was a mess. Below were rows of pictures, videos, and articles. The Lieutenant scrolled down to what looked like short messages from different people. All of them had icons with Vulcan faces.

“Lieutenant, how big is this network?” Sarek asked slowly. The Bridge was silent, making her keystrokes sound like a fluttering heart.

“There are over two billion pages on this network,” she began, “with 76.5% representing individuals and the rest organizations and businesses.”

“This is their World,” Kirk said, still standing beside Sarek in Security. He had been so quiet, letting things just play out around him, that it was clear that some of his own staff had forgotten he was there. The Captain then turned and addressed him directly.

“We had been wondering how the Vulcanoid individuals who lived alone on some of these ships coped with what looks like a lot of isolation. We found evidence of subspace communication---more than you might expect---and this just ties it all together. They must do a great deal of their social interacting online.”

“Permission to report, Captain,” Spock said, still on the Bridge. Selek was behind him, and the Ambassador suppressed a shutter.

He did not appreciate the version of his son from another universe. Or, put another way, he appreciated him too much. That Spock had managed to fulfill all of expectations he held for his own son: he was the Vulcan Ambassador and eventually an ambassador for the Federation. He had children, heirs, and settled on Vulcan to raise them in his later years. He attempted reunification with the Romulans, one of Sarek's own personal goals---though apparently the Sarek of his own universe opposed him.

He was too perfect. Too much like what Sarek wished for Spock to be, to have. He could not help but contemplate the possibility that he was a trap. A plant. Or truly an alternative version of his own son, who would know him well enough to know what would gratify him.

“Permission granted,” Kirk responded.

“There are several alternatives, should we wish to reengage the Nomad Nekae. Now that we have found a way to view this social network, it is possible we could use it to send a message. There is also physical engagement---the orca is 2.1 parsecs from here, a short distance for the Enterprise.”

“You have an option you prefer,” Kirk prodded. Spock nodded.

“There is one method that has a strong statistical possibility of being seen favorably by the Nomads, based on our observations. The Nomad we have already encountered, Nekae, has told the story of our meeting approximately 37 times, and those listeners have in turn told others. The news of our presence and desire to engage has spread exponentially, and there is a 97.2% chance that they will eventually seek to reestablish communication with us.”

“If the likelihood of their coming to us is high, I think our best course of action is to wait for that outcome.” The young Captain had surprised him before, then by being seemingly unconcerned about sharing power. This was so utterly opposite Sarek's experience with other Starfleet personnel that he felt the need to continue to test that characteristic.

But Kirk's response was to nod his head in agreement.

“Then we wait.”

* * *

 

“Spock! Wait up!” McCoy calls, sprinting to catch up with the Science Officer just as he entered the turbolift. He watched the First Officer's body language and, when everything seemed to look alright he stepped into the turbolift with him.

Now McCoy was one for consent in all interactions, regardless of with whom and about what. That strongly held ethical tenant was why he'd earned the reputation of bristly, pushy, and downright demanding when it came to medical care. He wasn't going to treat a person without consent unless they passed out and he had no choice. It had taken him years to understand that, for Jim Kirk, when it came to medical care, no actually did mean yes. But he knew how Vulcans valued privacy. And he'd learned the hard way how a Vulcan acted if their privacy was unexpectedly violated.

_Their First Officer hadn't eaten in a week. McCoy had given him 168 hours exactly to use the replicators and was now headed to his quarters strapped with a tricorder and a medical pack loaded with Spock-friendly remedies. The closer he got, the more nervous he became._

_He'd never actually seen Spock's quarters, which was itself a clear sign to him that the Vulcan was private (like most were) and that while working closely had endeared this old country doctor to their First Officer's ways, the reverse was not really the case (as again, was normal for Vulcans, who didn't translate time spent with a person into friendship as readily as humans often did)._

_Add that to the fact that he was a little concerned about how Jim, who seemingly had_ _**no** _ _ concept of personal space, was handling their Vulcan and it all led the Doctor to be more respectful of the First Officer's personal time and space. _

_McCoy stood in front of Spock's door and rung the alert. Moments later the door opened, blasting him with hot air._

_The doctor was shocked by the change in environment. It was heavy, dry, and unbelievably hot. He stopped for a minute to get used to it, and then looked around. Spock was standing with his hands behind his back at his workstation._

_“Is there something I can help you with, Doctor McCoy?” All of his Red Alerts were going off. Spock's standing, his hands behind his back, the form of address, and his tone of voice were all clear indicators that indeed McCoy was not welcome here._

_“If I'm interrupting something I can come back, but I need to speak to you sometime today and I would rather not do it in Sickbay if we can help it.” He girded his loins and ploughed forward. If he was going to beard the lion in his own den, he ought to just get it over with._

_“Why would you need to see me in Sickbay, Doctor?” Short sentences were also a sign he wasn't welcome._

_“You haven't eaten in over a week, Mr. Spock. My job as Chief Medical Officer includes ensuring the health and stability of the Command Staff. Lives depend on your not running yourself down.”_

_“Of course. But as I am a Vulcan, I require less food than a human. Vulcans can go over two weeks without food--”_

_“--but 5 days is the longest the average Vulcan goes without food unless deprivation is logical for some reason, according to Healers Savel and Storn.”_

_“Your ability to cite Vulcan references to my care is becoming an annoying trait.”_

_“If your fasting or something, or celebrating or mourning something private just say and I'll go! But your lack of replicator use is noted in the log and I'm required to investigate.”_

_“If you need me to waive your obligation, I am happy to do so.”_

_“Both annoyed and happy, huh? Your sounding a little more emotional than normal, Commander--”_

_“You will cease prying into my personal matters Doctor, or I shall certainly break your neck.”_

_Both of them reeled back, shocked by his words. In an instant the tricorder was out and he was scanning the Vulcan._

_“I'm gonna figure this out. We'll get you though this,” he recklessly promised, something which McCoy usually prided himself on not doing. He looked up sharply at an out of place sound, metal grinding on metal, to see Spock had collapsed into a chair._

_“I am no longer attached to Nyota Uhura.” The Vulcan said, quietly, his whole upper body curled forward in the chair as if he were trying to make himself small. McCoy sat too, still scanning, mind racing._

_*Loss of some degree of control over emotions and behavior, lack of appetite, minimal thirst, irritability, chills...* he ran off the list of symptoms in his mind, nodding for Spock to continue._

_“Vulcans do not loose their mates... but it was not her fault... I cannot keep hurting her...” None of what he was saying made any sense to McCoy, or jived with what he found on the scans at all, mostly because he wasn't finding anything at all on the scans. They were normal._

_“Stupid piece of equipment!” the doctor hit the tricorder on the side of the desk and Spock's head came up abruptly._

_“You should lock me away.” He said, meeting the Doctor's eyes intently._

_“Not right now I can't. And I might have to take you to Sickbay. This scanner is saying you are perfectly normal, when it is obvious something is wrong---What?” Spock had straightened at McCoy's words about the scans and the doctor, now hypersensitive to the tiniest gestures from the Vulcan, picked up on it like a blinking billboard._

_“Nothing, at all? That is to say, no elevated hormone levels or elevated temperature?”_

_“No, nothing like that. Though I'm not surprised you are hot. You've been running the temperature in your quarters 25 degrees higher than what's normal for you. Do you know what this is? Because I don't, but you can trust me.”_

_Spock seemed to react to his tone, the same tone he used when talking to a sick child. He nodded with the barest of gestures and sat up straight, almost experimentally._

_“But I do not have a fever?”_

_“No.” Spock ordered the temperature controls down 25 degrees and then just sat for a moment. McCoy was grateful for the reprieve, and since he had gotten used to it being hotter, the over 100 degree temp actually felt cool in comparison._

_“You just psyched yourself out, didn't you?” Spock shifted his eyes to McCoy, obviously now experimenting with his own controls._

_“I do not know the meaning of that phrase, Doctor.”_

_“You ended your relationship with Lt. Uhura. And then you thought you were hot, irritable, probably not sleeping. And those things led you to stop eating, and to react to my questions in this...” McCoy didn't want to put a word on Spock's loss of control right now, while the Vulcan seemed so fragile._

_Spock seemed to be taking his words in, and started to nod. “Yes... yes... and your sensor readings match up with my own assessment of my physical state. There is no excuse for my behavior. Doctor, I deeply regret having threatened you. I urge you to file a report on the matter...”_

_ “No no no. they'll be none of that. No throwing yourself on a Court Martial just because you don't want to explain something. But  _ _**if** _ _ whatever this thing is that you thought you had but now realize you don't is so damaging that I would need to, by your own words, 'Lock you away,” I need you to tell me what it is. I'm required to know what medical conditions the Command Team are at risk for, and there's no pretending now that something isn't going on.” Spock nodded, agreeing. _

_“It is... biology...”_

McCoy shook off the memory. He'd learned that day how much every bit of cultural knowledge about Vulcans he could get was worth.

“So,” McCoy began, turning to the Vulcan as Mr. Spock set their course for Security, “you never told me Vulcans have cats.” Spock bowed his head slightly in the Doctor's direction, an indication that he was willing to continue this line of conversation.

“Litkas are not cats,” he repeated, “though they do apparently resemble human domesticated felines when living in close quarters with Vulcanoids. In actuality, the closest animals Vulcan had that resemble cats are the lematya, though this would also be an imprecise comparison.”

“How so?”

“Lematya are more comparable in size to a tiger, faster in reflexes than a cheetah, with venom deadlier than a black mamba.” His words are punctuated by the sounds of laughter from Security.

“I don't think those are the sounds that are supposed to come from Security...” McCoy mused. Then a loud animal roar followed.

“That definitely does not belong,” Spock said as he quickened his pace, the CMO in tow.

They entered Security to find a group of red shirts wrapped around a monitor, all laughing hysterically. There is a voice in the Nomad language, this time male and excited, and then the translation in the same female, flat affect voice, “Get your bed. Don't let him just take your bed. Fight back.” Walking up behind the group, they see a litka on the monitor, lying flat on his back with his arms out, seemingly in an effort to take up all of the space on a large floor cushion. A sehlat paces around the cushion, whining and growling.

A security officer turned, and seeing the two there went to attention, prompting the rest do to so as well. The video went on behind them, the silence filled with whimpering, snarling, hissing, and laughing. “This one is called 'Litkas in Sehlat Beds', and it is a compilation.”

The Security officer went on to explain that this social media page served as the primary social outlet for the Nomads. He explains the features of the page, which included pictures, videos, notes from others, and governmental notices. “I'm not an Anthropologist, so I admittedly don't know a lot about space-dwelling cultures, but in this case this page is her primary contact to family, friends, and government.”

“Agreed,” Sarek's voice seemed louder now that everyone was silent, still at attention and in a ring around the speaking Security officer and the CMO and First Officer. It was coming from a monitor, where he had been watching from the Bridge. The Security staff seemed overly surprised, as if they hadn't known that a channel to the Bridge was open.

“I am an Ambassador. I am also, in point of fact, an Anthropologist,” Sarek adds, his intention seemingly helpful.

“Wait,” Kirk interjects, also from the Bridge but off screen so that the officers in Security only heard his voice, “I thought you were an astrophysicist and a computer components and software expert.”

“I am all of those things as well,” the Ambassador responds flatly. He turns and addresses their still off-screen Captain.

“From the closed system communications access your Security staff have attained, we can see that the Nomads appear to be engaged in a totally democratic, anarchist governing system. They vote online, initiate polls, and seem like a class D civilization according to _Chartov's Hierarchy of Sentient Civilizations_.” Then, almost comically, he got into the exact same lecture pose (straight-backed, hands clasped behind his back) that Commander Spock often favored the crew with.

“As I am sure you know, Captain, Chartov characterized governing systems by how litigious they were. Class D civilizations have very few community rules, often under ten or even five. All members of the society would understand these rules, and there would be only one punishment for breaking any of them. And as these societies tend to have little to nothing in the way of justice governance, it is highly likely that individuals would be tasked with this enforcement responsibility.”

“My God, man! Do you realize what you are describing? That's vigilante justice!” McCoy forgot for a moment that he wasn't talking to Spock and there was an awkward silence.

“I agree with the Doctor. The corollaries to this hypothesis could easy have fatal consequences for the Enterprise, the Vulcan delegation, and all remaining Vulcans. As it bears such importance, it should not be taken lightly.” Spock broke the tension by agreeing with him. The Doctor was floored.

“Hey, we've got action!” one of the Security staff said. As they'd been speaking a notice popped up on the page, calling for contact with the Federation vessel. It is quickly seconded and soon thousands of people had called for it.

Kirk moved into the video feed. “Spock, McCoy, I think you'd better get up to the Bridge.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the inspiration for Litkas in Sehlat Beds, all the TOS easter eggs hidden in this chapter, and Nekae's social media page on http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarek and Spock continue to cope with the loss of Amanda as the Enterprise crew struggles to unlock the historical mystery of the Nomads.

“Why are you still here?” Nekae was speaking as Spock exited the turbolift, where he stopped abruptly and stepped to the side so as not to stop the Doctor. Cognizant of where the viewscreen boundaries were, he waited until Kirk looked to the side, acknowledged him, and nodded before he moved across the bridge to the Science station. 

“Are you,” she panned over to make eye contact with Kirk, “so stupid that you think even all of your ships would be a match for us? Or maybe,” her gaze shifted to Sarek, “you're desperate because you let our planet get destroyed and now have nowhere to live and not enough women? Or are you just crazy,” she snapped, eyes flicking back to the Captain, “thinking you'll help mediate a thousands of years held conflict by standing in the middle?” His father had been right to have two figures of authority present. It obviously benefited these negotiations, and made him reconsider how heavily he had lobbied the Captain before the Vulcan delegation came on board to consolidate his authority in preparation for their visitors. Kirk's attitude here---that this was a Vulcan issue, so it made sense that the Vulcan Ambassador have all the power he needed---was paying off now.

“Your people voted to speak to us, and gave you a mandate. You are curious about us, though you also seem to know a great deal,” Sarek began, and his words gave off the feeling that he was winding up for something long. She interrupted him before he could really begin, a tactic his mother would use when they were in contention. That, combined with the fact that it was still his mother's voice giving the translation made him start, and he took a few seconds to steady his controls.

“You were watching our tech then. _You_ must have learned a great deal. Besides, most of the beings on _this_ ship are human. Isn't it arrogant to think I came back just to talk to one of you, when there are so many of them?” Nekae was much different this time. The walls and desk were draped with green cloth, making it look like she was transmitting from somewhere else. She'd cleaned up and was dressed formally, in a coat with a high back at the neck and a green scarf wrapped around her neck under the collar, with a knot at her throat where the coat collar was open. Her eyes were focused. She switched languages seamlessly, speaking to Sarek in the Nomad dialect they had identified earlier. If Sarek had been married to anyone else this might have been too much a linguistical challenge, but he was sure his mother had taught his father the ancient Vulcan languages and enough about linguistics to extrapolate. To Kirk she spoke English with an American Western ( _Texas and Oklahoma_ , his mind supplied) accent. She spoke fast, racing the translator and barraging the Ambassador with words, and he adopted the same tactic, his own responses coming out in a rush.

“I learned that you still raise litkas and sehlats. Our sehlats will go extinct in the next 70-100 years and our children will not grow up ever seeing a live litka again.” This time, Sarek's statement was short.. She responded in kind and the pace of the conversation quickened.

“Puppies and kitties and children already?” She looked incredulous. “Fine, then know this. The ones of us called Nomads guard our worlds, and we do so because we _want_ to. We are all the ancestors of those left behind. The children whose parents and teachers were killed by the Acolytes of Gol and the Gladiators of Shi'Kar. We are the adepts whose entire villages were leveled. We are the orphans of T'Khut's world, and we are not swayed by the pains of your children.” The entire crew straightened, shocked by her declaration.

“You really have no pity?” Kirk jumped in, and watching his Captain work toe-to-toe with his father was a sight bordering on heretical.

“That's not what your culture looks like from here. From here, “ Kirk said, motioning to the wall screen to his left side, where her page was still up, “...it looks like you care for, respect, and even idolize the innocence of puppies, kittens, and children.”

She turned to him, her face changing completely. With their human Captain her face was open, genuine, and her voice honest, “We do have pity, but we cannot for them. They conquered our world with  _philosophy_ , backed by telepathic assault and then war. They  _are not safe_ .” She emphasized her last words as if she were trying to protect him.

Spock understood completely what she might be thinking she was protecting their human companions from. His mother was an expert on pre-Reform Vulcan history and culture, and it was the one class she taught him herself. If to this Nomad, Vulcan civilization was put on pause the moment her ancestors were driven from their world, what she knew of them filled in the gaps in Terran knowledge. To the Nomads, Vulcans were still pre-Reform, uncontrolled except as a precursor to savagery---or worse, the Reformers, controlled on the outside but still making frenzied, emotional decisions. To the Federation---including Terra---Vulcans were far beyond the reforms, a calm, non-violent, unemotional race.

“Then you will not suffer us for long. We will not make it to a fifth generation without additional individuals and, even then, we will not have enough genetic diversity to sustain ourselves as a race.” Sarek, the only one on the Bridge other than Spock who was still composed, added quickly.

Kirk jumped back in the conversation, trying to keep her more sympathetic eye contact. “You would really let them go extinct? Without even knowing whether, over thousands of years, they had changed into the type of people you could embrace?” His speech had an almost stirring affect on the Bridge crew, which made her next statement so abrupt.

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation. “They are dangerous. They drove over half the population of their world away and called it  _peace_ . If they are dying, let them die. They are not worth saving.” She spoke directly with Kirk, who looked across the Bridge at him.

He met Kirk's still shocking blue eyes and watched as the Captain took him in, as if using him as an perfect example of his entire species. It never stopped surprising Spock the difference between his reception on the Enterprise, where he was Vulcan, for some of them the only Vulcan they had ever even met---and he was meticulous in his duties as First Officer, and that included meeting every member of the crew---and his reception on Vulcan, where he was human, and surrounded by individuals convinced he would slip up and reveal himself at any moment. His father among them.

He was snapped back to awareness as Kirk's eyes clouded. He was back within the memory of the meld, and he had now had a flashback on the Bridge. Spock prepared to intervene. Then, almost as quickly, the human Captain came back to himself. His eyes focused on the console between them, the same one Spock had bent him backwards over and choked him almost to death. Then he looked past it again, to his First Officer and the look he gave him was shockingly emotional, an affirmation of friendship that hit his sensitive telepathic receptors like a wave. Kirk turned back to the Nomad.

“You're wrong.” His voice had a strong emotional undertone. Conviction. The Bridge crew responded, sitting up straighter. She seemed surprised. She turned her attention back to the Ambassador.

“I'll communicate your _state_ to the Core and let them know you are motivated to... collaborate. And I will open and maintain friendly relations with the Captain and crew of this Federation vessel. This is all we are willing to offer at this time.”

“She's typing!” Lt. Uhura reported, displaying a shot of her computer screen transparently to the side of her face on the main viewing screens.

_Pseth Sular ra dangloit'lej var-tor!_

“Tell these Dry Ones what they should do,” Spock translated aloud, stepping up to the dias next to Kirk.

“Permission to take the screen, Sir,” Uhura requested. Kirk waived his hand and the screen got brighter. Now it was Nekae's subspace social network screen, where she had just posted her request. Responses were pouring in, all small video, audio, and text files linked to the conversation.

“Play some Lieutenant, at your discretion,” Kirk ordered. She clicked on a video and an old woman's face filled the screen. Her voice was translated, so her old face was paired with his mother's voice---a disturbing visual.

“I would heed her words, Son of Surak. We have lived thousands of years in anticipation of the day you step to us again, and you are hardly strong enough for a confrontation now. Do not let need drive you to making what is clearly an illogical choice.” Lt Uhura seemed to realize this was a problem, and switched to another video, this time a young girl. She could not have been more than ten cycles old, and the translator adopted a lighter, younger sounding version of his mother's voice.

“You better do what that Queen says! Or you'll regret the day you ever came to this part of space looking for extra women and children. 'Cause we fight too, Stone-Faced One. And we don't take prisoners!” The little girl was gesturing wildly with thin, long arms. Her head, neck, and limbs were stretched, suggesting she had been raised in space, on life support systems, or on a world with a lighter gravity than her planet of origin.

“We find these terms acceptable,” Sarek says abruptly, his voice tinged with a hoarseness that draw's Spock's concern. He looks in time to see his father's eyes cutting to the light on the Captain's chair that indicate the comms are still on. He looks strained, and more than anyone else around him Spock understands why.

* * *

 

Sarek watched the stars, moving only as the inertial dampeners, deflectors, and shields vacillated their magnetic charges.

_She is not my wife. My wife is dead._

He dug down deeply into his meditation, needing to retreat from the world after an afternoon with a cold side and her voice in his ear.

Normally, when they traveled on Starfleet vessels they chose to stay together. She would take the tour with him, sit in meetings, always at his side. Starships were known for computer failures, exotic and violent first contacts, space madness, and a whole host of other unique dangers. It was already enough of a strain on him that Spock was constantly in this environment, which could collapse in on itself from any number of unknown, incalculable factors. His wife noticed, and chose not to similarly strain him.

Today, he had heard her voice, but had not the benefit of her presence. Her counsel.

Normally, in diplomatic situations such as this, when his negotiating partners were emotional in this way, she would aid him with her counsel. As he was speaking she would come up and take his hand---a completely normal human gesture that his wife felt gratified to take license with in public---which would jumpstart their always humming bond. Then they would talk without speaking, and in the private world of their minds they were both  _The Ambassador_ , both with just as much influence and just as much of a role to play.

To hear her voice in this situation was so normal that he had to remind himself again that she was not there, not on their ship or standing next to him in his mind. The Nomad's words were not orders, issued by his wife.

“ _Isn't it arrogant to think I came back just to talk to one of you, when there are so many of them?”_

His wife's words made him think of her Earthly ghosts, the katras of the dead that humans just left in endless yards and sometimes, largely depending on their deaths, their homes and places of work. Since her death he had thought about that concept a great deal, wondering where her katra was, if it was anywhere. Humans were so careless with theirs, unable to fully preserve them, and he had entertained the thought that she might return and visit him, as her Terran ghost stories often recounted. But if she were here, now, it would be arrogant for him to assume she was here for  _him_ , and not their son. If she had limited time, as so many of these stories say is the case with human ghosts, then coming to see their son would be the logical choice. He needs her.

_I am an adult. I can move forward. I will keep my promises._

They had discussed her death, all discussions started by her, often prompted by drastically unrelated stimuli. And in each conversation she solicited promises from him.

  1. _To live well_

  2. _To marry again_

  3. _To ensure their son was well cared for_




_Well cared for_ was her phrase, a curious turn of human vernacular, meant to convey a level of concern that both parties in the conversation understood. And when she said it to him, he understood her meeting explicitly.

She expected him to take care of Spock as she would. And, in her absence, he found keeping this promise was both logical and easier than being the constant counterpoint to his son's every decision.

At first Spock had been shocked by this---he remembered his son's unguarded expression after Sarek answered the question posed throughout the child's youth honestly, as Amanda would have done to calm him after his outburst on the Bridge---but Spock very quickly seemed to adapt. And all of the affection, loyalty, and devotion Spock had always showered on his mother turned now on him. Sarek had often meditated on his displeasure with being the parent obviously not favored by their son, but he had never allowed these emotions acknowledgment outside of his meditations. Now, well within his meditations, he acknowledged how pleased this new relationship with his son made him.

Earlier that day, discretely as possible, the guard he had shadowing Selek reported to him about his work with his son on the Bridge---including that Selek had assumed Spock would want to avoid the delegation and his father specifically. Sarek had repressed an emotional sense of approval when he heard the report that his son had disabused Selek of that notion.

_Spock. Selek's name is actually Spock. And in another place he would be my son._

Sarek reminded himself of this, a little concerned that, were Amanda here, she would insist her promise spread to both of her sons. And, if another universe did exist, and Selek was Spock from there, then his own Sarek wouldn't be able to help him. To reach him.

He had an obligation to see to his welfare. And that extending to  _kindness_ , which was not logical but which he knew both Spocks needed.

But Amanda was not here.

“ _They are not safe.”_

Even in English, the Texarkana accent reminded him of his wife, though he had not heard it outside of their private chambers in over a decade. It was as if Amanda had spoken so urgently to Kirk, on a subject she knew very well. Vulcans were not safe. And while somehow none of the Starfleet officers who served and lived alongside his son seemed to understand it, Amanda had been at his side, in his mind, every day, for over 41 years. In that close quarters, there are some things even a Vulcan cannot hide forever, and she had learned of him in full measure.

Hands clasped, she felt when alien Ambassadors caused him irritation or frustration. The nature of his work meant that it was dangerous, and on more than one occasion she had felt the violent emotions that came over him in waves when her safety was threatened. And there was, of course, the other. The thing she had vowed never to speak of to another.

“ _They are not worth saving.”_

If any Standard-speaking female had the right to make such a statement, it would be his wife. Hearing those words then, in that context---even in a voice that was far removed from his wife's but in a language she would use---when he could not quite shake the feeling she was actually there speaking to him had consequences.

His heart stopped.

He'd felt when he missed the first beat, then the second, and his world started to gray in from the outside of his eyes. His knees buckled.

Then Kirk took over the conversation and navigated them to a satisfactory arrangement. He had been fortunate the Enterprise Captain had turned out to be so unconventional. He doubted he would have been able to finish this negotiation without the human's help.

He knew he could not go on, meditating on Amanda's death and watching it night after night. There was a limit to his endurance. But he was also rapidly becoming ineffective in his duties, and at a time when he needed to be at his sharpest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get some old school Trek Ed along with some high quality fic suggestions on my tumblr: http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Enterprise, everyone deals with their own portion of loss. Bonds break, relationships form, and fences mend for the Starfleet crew.

Spock disliked it when the Captain used conversation to distract from the game. At first, this was simple annoyance—the talking wasn't truly a distraction, but if he were playing another Vulcan it would be unnecessary—which he controlled. Of course, eventually the Captain hit on topics that were distractions, like “When would he--”, “What about her--?” “Could he see himself with--” and all manner of other completely baffling questions no Vulcan would ever expect a Human to ask. Though, he mused, most other Vulcans were getting these same questions now, at least from one another and the High Council. With the population as low as it was, even Vulcans who had lost mates and children---who were still within the standard period where solitude would be expected---needed to bond and rebound quickly. The Captain—Jim, he amended in his own mind, since this was non-duty related activity that he must keep separate—frequently encouraged him to think of himself that way. In mourning. Even the word in his mind tasted of unwieldy emotion.

All of this would be moot if he still had Nyota. After losing his mother, they could barely touch without his mind thinking the human female presence was Amanda's. Each time they did, his mind tried to reinstate the familial bond, causing them both pain and on several occasions requiring a healer to fix. He had to control the shame that went with those memories: explaining to Dr. McCoy that there was nothing that he could do without a Healer's telepathic sense; hearing McCoy on the comm with the Healer on  _The Surak_ and knowing that the Healer would report to Sarek; and then the breaking of the proto-bond, which hurt her. All of it hurt  _her_ .

So, after over a year of trying to be together with limited to no skin-to-skin contact—and compromising his Vulcan privacy strictures, so that if she couldn't get the touch humans needed in relationships, she could at least claim him in public—she came to him and asked to end it. And how could he refuse? Clearly she was suffering.

That first night, after she left his quarters and he had begun preparations for some much-needed meditation, he almost didn't answer the door when it chimed again. And then regretted it nearly immediately when the Captain—Jim---explained why he was there. To  _help_ , as if there were such a thing. But Jim knew about what no Vulcan spoke of, and was convinced that the two of them were “friends, no family” in a way Spock was uncomfortable discouraging. He knew what earnest looked like in humans, and the conversation was an unexpected reminder of so many he had with his mother. He suspected Jim had gotten all of this from his elder self, but could not find any logic in discouraging it.

And that's how the almost nightly chess games with his Captain—his friend---came to be. And the questions no one else would ask. Even McCoy, who came to understand his status a few weeks later, was still giving him the space that, while not productive, was at least more comfortable. Kirk, unlike McCoy, felt the need to _push_.

He had been fortunate that the last few weeks had afforded little opportunity for private conversation between them. The Enterprise had set up a small circuit arc course around the _Orca Corridor_ , with boundary coordinates provided by Nekae, so they could stay outside of the buffer of security forces but still communicate with their designated representative. If they went any further away, the time differential would be too much for streaming video and audio.

After eight days of Nekae speaking pointedly to Kirk in each conversation while blatantly ignoring Sarek, the Vulcan Delegation left. Of course, the arrangements they had made to stay, keeping Sarek here while continuing the work of rebuilding New Vulcan, were unsustainable. Stretching ships out across space like the primitive cup-and-string communications device his mother had made for him to play with as a child between New Vulcan and the _Orca Corridor_ so Sarek could continue to communicate with video and audio in the other direction took too many ships away from population security. With their numbers so low, their people still living almost exclusively in space, and their infrastructure so weak, attack from the Romulans was a necessary consideration.

Not so long ago, he would have considered this leave-taking another sign that his parents put work before him, duty before family. He did not, largely because he and his father had spoken on the subject.

_Just talk to each other!_ His mother often demanded, cajoled, even begged them. She said it on so many occasions when he was a child that he wondered whether humans had some power of persuasion behind their words, and he and Sarek---or perhaps Vulcans in general---were immune. She seemed convinced that repetition and volume would influence them to change their behavior.

But now he understood. Talking was a revelation. All of those times his mother had yelled at Sarek to _talk to him_ what she meant was _explain your rationale_. Spock wholeheartedly agreed that he often did not understand his father, or thought he did but hoped he was incorrect, and there were numerous occasions throughout his upbringing when he wanted Sarek to explain himself.

Now that Sarek had answered one question, his first, one that he had been saving and trying over and over for his whole life, Spock took this opening to continue.

He had many more questions crammed behind that first one. He had an eidetic memory. And now, he had permission to ask.

The first night he didn't ask a single question. When he got to the quarters he had opened and prepared for his father---which he had anticipated would be a problem with the Hospitality staff, but instead Lt. Herrada just crinkled her eyes at him and let him---, he found the older Vulcan sitting at the workstation, chair turned, staring at the wall between that space and the bathroom. His skin was greyish green and his responses slowed. His heart sounded slow, almost weak, and Spock controlled a strong urge to replicate a tricorder and take some scans of his father. That would be a breach of privacy, however, and so took the cherry tomatoes he had harvested from Hydroponics and cooked the two of them an _adronn feltara_.

They actually had several Vulcan produce items on board that would have worked, but as this was how he had learned to make the dish, and his father had never demonstrated a problem or preference to the contrary before, he assumed it would be received similarly this time as well.

They ate dinner, largely in silence, though Spock was able to draw his father out with a discussion of the Vulcan plants, animals, and microbe samples the Enterprise had in its stores. What for many years seemed an illogical action on the part of his mother, the sending of _care packages_ filled with food, seeds, pets, and samples for his projects, had actually saved several species that would have been left to die on the planet otherwise. Sarek was restored a small bit by learning that these lifeforms still existed, and that Enterprise was already growing their numbers despite not having Starfleet Command orders to do so.

While Spock tried on several occasions to explain that out here, in space and on the Enterprise, _he was Command_ , that fact never seemed to be understood by his father.

The next night Sarek spoke from the start, greeting his son when he entered his quarters. He had already replicated some of the puffy, colorful marshmallow fruits created by the replicator, filled with unnaturally large doses of nutrients. Spock brought favinit petals and made a quick butter for a small batch of kreyla crackers. In the middle of their meal, Sarek brought Amanda into the conversation.

“Your mother insists that these are not 'crackers', but instead called them savory shortbreads,” he began, knowing she had never shared that observation with Spock as it was one from early in their marriage.

Spock looked Sarek over, assessing whether he was well enough for a conversation, and what type of conversation he was well enough for, while raising a fruit to his lips. He took it whole, eating the replicated food quickly so that he could swallow and then respond appropriately.

“I find...” Spock began, stopping and looking up hesitantly and then, getting the response from his father that he was looking for, he continued, “...I find that convincing myself that she is gone is a constant struggle.” Sarek takes this with equanimity, nodding at this confession. They had not spoken about his difficulties with Nyota, save for a brief text message from Sarek after the Healer broke their bond.

_I grieve with thee._

“Your mother will always be in your thoughts. But in time, she will not feel so... close.” Sarek watched his son take these words in, always surprised by how much the his son revealed in his body language, so like his wife in that regard. Spock was relieved, thinking this was normal and that Sarek was feeling it too. Sarek was, but it was far from normal.

* * *

 

It was moments like this that made Nyota miss the ease of being in a secret-not-so-secret relationship. She turned the corridor, making her way to her quarters, hoping they would get the hint.

“I just don't think we are thinking through the implications of our actions here. Whose to say they aren't Romulans, just because they don't act like Romulans. Shouldn't we be just a little more suspicious?” Specialist Cyani continued, their words in the background as Nyota parced through all the nice ways to end this conversation before she got to her quarters.

“Anyway, it is early. Come out on the Observation Deck tonight. You haven't had a break in ages and a group of us are taking their padds there to work with friends,” Cyani continued. And Nyota understood.

On ships like Enterprise, where everyone was smashed together for years at a time, relationships were a priority. And with so many fellow crewmen off limits because of rank and duty-overlap, going across departmental lines was a must. There were only so many people who Security specialists like Cyani could hit on, and that number narrowed even more because of their pronouns. There were only so many people on board who could consistently use “they” as a singular pronounin Standard, and avoid lapsing into other singular pronouns (he, she, ze) or plural sentence structure (which would just make Cyani sound like a big group of people).

_And they is not even hitting on me yet,_ Nyota reminded herself. She turned on her heel in one smooth motion, a habit Gaila always encouraged. _Walking should always be like ballet! We should dance every day the sun is out, and all the days it rains. And clouds are nice too._

“I wish I could, but I really need to spread out in my quarters. Tonight I'm juggling too many padds to come out. These Nomads do all of their communication online, and that means there is a lot left for me to go through.”

And now she was awkwardly standing at the door to her quarters, still talking to Cyani. She knew they thought this was a sign of attraction, but Nyota really just didn't want the Specialist seeing the chaos that was her quarters. She hated being deliberately confusing in her own behaviors, but she was a comms officer and she knew exactly how fast gossip could spread.

“...know you need to take a break once in a while. And focusing on too much at once means nothing will get done as well as it should be...”

She hated interactions like this. Cyani liked her, but it was only obvious because she was a comms officer with advanced training in facial musculature. Nyota didn't reciprocate, but it wasn't obvious because she lingered at her door to continue the conversation. It took another ten minutes or so for the conversation to end naturally, and then Nyota waited until Cyani was down the hall before slipping into her quarters, though she knew that made it look like she was watching her walk away.

Inside her quarters, all of those concerns melted away at the other world she had created for herself. Marcus, Hannity, Martine, and Palmer were all spread out in her “living space”, all working on their own personal but interconnected projects.

While Nyota, as a Lieutenant, got a single with more space than most of the rest of the crew, her space looked more like the dorm room she had shared with Gaila at the Academy. Marcus was in the corner at the workstation, her shiny blond bob bent forward as she texted probably Chapel on her padd while working to eliminate all of the weapons' energy signatures from the starcharts they were interested in while Hannity was at the little table in the kitchenette, matching the communications signal log from the Enterprise's sensors with Starfleet's bank of stored transmissions. Martine had the star chart projected on the wall left of Marcus, and was standing as she traced each escape pod trajectory from a giant list of ejected pods. She was on the U.S.S. Henry now, which left her seven more ships. Palmers was working between Martine and Hannity, going through the escape pods that could have made it out of harm's way from Martine and matching them with saved comm signals from Hannity.

Nyota had a place too, and after she'd made sure all of her friends _compatriots, co-conspirators_ had water and at least a replicated meal bar, she moved into the bedroom. She was going through comm signals. Tapping her padd and opening the shared spreadsheet, she found her updated list. Each of these comm signals belonged to an escape pod that could possibly have made it out of the Vulcan system. They had all been received and automatically stored at Starfleet Command, but no one had gone through them.

She took a drink of water. She had listened to almost 750 signatures since they started this project _mission, obligation_ and, since her work required the others' get done first, she had banked less time then the other women had. No one ever minded though, since her job was the worst. She hit play on the first transmission of the night.

_Starfleet Command this is Ensign Ro Childs from the U.S.S. Henry. I'm in an escape pod with Specialist Yung, Nurse Williams, and Engineers Kyoto, and Jamile. Nurse Williams passed away a few moments ago and Yung is trying to treat severe injuries sustained by Kyoto and Jamile. They were in Engineering when the coolant systems lost their seals, and have third degree burns over most of their bodies. Yung has a dislocated shoulder and a concussion. I'm fine. We are---_

_\--Ensign Childs has a broken leg and two fractured ribs--_

The signal crackled and there was a bit of back and forth she missed.

_\--we are on a flight path that will take us to P'Jem._

_Jamile has passed. Focusing on Kyoto then I'm coming for you._

_I'm fine I already--_

And then the signal was lost. Nyota logged that Ensign Ro Childs, Specialist Yung, and Engineer Kyoto were confirmed on comms, the time, made some notes, and then marked the transmission complete. She took another drink, remembering how all of this had started.

_Nyota had been in her room for too long. It was about a month after the Fall of Vulcan and Spock had gone from needing her to needing to be alone. She didn't begrudge him that at all, but she wasn't used to being in her own quarters, by herself, with **free** time._

_Before she moved to San Francisco free time would not have been a problem. She had lots of different friends in several different circles, so there was always something to do. At the Academy Gaila had very quickly---the word “cutthroat” fit perfectly here---become her best and main friend, but Gaila was a social butterfly too and there was always more to do than Nyota had time for outside of her academic work. And then she started working with Spock, and then socializing with him, and soon her world narrowed to him, Gaila, and the family members she commed once a week._

_It had surprised her how content she was with that arrangement. And then Gaila was on the Farragut, and she hadn't even had time to think about what that would mean before Gaila was gone. And though that loss burned behind her eyes and in her throat, the last thing she wanted to do was to take it to Spock._

_And now Spock wasn't leaning on her either, having recommitted himself to meditation with a fervor she thought was probably normal under the circumstances. She was just left out of it. And since her feelings about it involved Spock, the only person she felt safe confiding in, who understood Vulcan privacy well enough to get that it was **secret** , was the person she missed._

_The door chimed, raising her from the dark whirlpool of her thoughts. She pressed the control and Nurse Christine Chapel walked in, still in uniform and looking like she had just gotten off a long shift. Chapel favored those “looks elaborate but takes seconds!” hairdos, and hers had little wisps of blonde peeking out all over._

_“Hey, I'm Nurse Chapel from Sick---”_

_“---I know who you are,” Nyota interrupted her. She'd heard the rumors, and Spock's own accounts of uncomfortable Sickbay run ins on the Othello when he served under Pike. And truly, she needed to vent some of her frustration and if this little aristocrat wanted to step to her..._

_“Listen, I know this is weird, and I'm not here too...” Chapel began again, her arms out, shoulders raised in tension, eyebrows up and pulled together, lower eyelids tensed, lips stretched back---Nyota automatically cataloged her body language and what she learned poured over her like a bucket of ice water. She'd been prepared to snap off at Chapel, but the Nurse was scared, and that didn't sit right with her._

_“I didn't think you were,” Nyota said, relaxing and offering her the pull out guest chair folded under her workstation. Chapel sat, folding her hands in her lap._

_“I'm here because I need your help. Maybe not you--” she quickly amended, taking Nyota's surprise as some sign that she was too busy, “--maybe just an idea about who else might be able to, I was just,” Nyota was nodding, and had deliberately schooled her features so the other woman would stop beating around the bush._

_Chapel took a breath and started again. “Starfleet has declared the search for survivors of the Fall of New Vulcan over. They say a month was as long as they could spare personnel, but ...” Nyota was surprised---though she wasn't really. She was glad Pike was an Admiral now, because she had met a few and not all of them seemed like she'd want them on the other end of decisions made about the Enterprise. She was a loyal officer, but she got the impression more than once that some of the Admirals saw the fleet as their own personal service, whether for transportation, communication, or in some intergalactic version of RISK._

_“...but because of my personal relationship with Roger, I'm not getting anywhere trying to get the Admiraly to listen to me. I've been following the rescue opps and even as a nurse I know that there are thousands of unreviewed comm signals...” when Nyota perked up at this, Chapel grabbed a padd from her medical bag and turned it on to a comm log and moved it to where they both could see it._

_“This is a lot,” Nyota admitted. Chapel looked stunned that she was just agreed with and Nyota wondered how much of her harried look was about work and how much was about this. And maybe there was a good reason why Chapel wasn't getting anywhere._

_“Roger?” she asked, and Chapel ducked her head, blushing._

_“My fiance. He's a geologist, and was just getting back from a deep space project. His ship was in Vulcan's orbit when...” she trailed off and Nyota nodded._

_“A personal relationship with someone affected shouldn't invalidate your point. These really are a lot of comm signals,” she said, half in comfort and half frustrated with the situation._

_“Yes! And some of them could, really must have come from the escape pods. Its estimated that over half of all of the escape pods on each ship were fired off, and Enterprise logs could give us a concrete number for at least some of the ships.”_

_Nyota could feel her skin prickling. That was a lot of pods, and Chapel was right about Enterprise's sensors. They would have all of the action around them from the moment they warped in, including pod detonations, flight paths, the information she would need to differentiate comm signals from the subspace trash from the fight--_

_“--not all of these would be actual calls,” she heard herself adding, “but the Enterprise's scanners could help us narrow down the list,” Chapel was nodding again and suddenly they were leaned in together, talking in through. And in her mind, all she could think was that her best friend could still be out there._

She took another drink of water and hit the next call, and then the next. Reminding herself why she was doing this---specifically who she was looking for, and what might happen if Gaila was alive and no one found her---was just the thing to get Nyota back on her stride.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get a clip-filled rundown of classic Trek scenes we haven't seen in the movies yet, scene clips, and find the TOS easter egg in this episode at http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	10. Chapter 10: Errand of Mercy Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise warps into a system on the edge of Klingon space. Their mission: to stop the Klingons from occupying a peaceful planet and building a base of attack against the Federation.

“Captain,” Spock’s tone was brisk as they sprinted down the corridor to the next turbolift as the ship propelled them through space at lightspeed.

“Yes Spock,” Kirk replied, a little curt, as they dodged crew, who looked on from behind them mortified at who they’d just held up.

“Were I to be captured by Klingons, I would want to be able to anticipate that, with as much time as possible so that I could prepare myself. Is it the same for you?

“Are we going to be captured by Klingons, Spock?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Now there were in the turbolift, both still holding their clipboards, filled with coded orders about an _anticipated surprise attack_ and instructions to use _whatever means necessary_ to keep the Klingons from acquiring a new base. Orders frustratingly vague, including an actual oxymoron, which in this context bordered on absurd.

“What are the percentages, Spock?”

“It is 98.6% likely that we will be captured by Klingons as they take the disputed planet, Captain.” He did not have time to consider the fact that this is the first instance, ever, of a superior officer actually _asking him for more precision_ and whether not this is because of his current lack, something unique about Kirk, or a combination of both. They were standing still as the turbolift moved, instead of moving themselves, and Kirk was obviously not enjoying the sensation.

“What factors even go into a percentage like that, Mr. Spock? I mean, what is that math even like?”

“The immediate aggressiveness from the Warbird indicates that it is 89.3% likely that it was on alert, defending an already taken system. The Organians are, by the observations of Federation merchants, a peaceful people in a primitive culture, which makes their quick surrender to the Klingons 92.6% likely. It takes approximately 4.1 minutes to assemble a boarding party and hit the planet…”

Spock has to admit that verbally building the math around their situation was contributing to his calming mental state, as it mirrored his meditation preference. They were out of the turbolift, were a crewman was there to greet them with clean clothes. Discarding niceties, Kirk began to strip and change and Spock followed suit.

“These clothes are to make us look native?”

“Yes, Captain.” They continued on to the Transporter Room, where both Security and Medical personnel were standing by.

“All this fuss, Bones?” Kirk asked, with a levity of tone that his voice had not held moments before.

“Are you kidding?? Do you know how likely it is you'll get wounded or even killed down there??” McCoy was flailing. Again. Kirk looked up, catching the Doctor's gaze.

“Yes. Energize.”

On the planet, things were inordinately quiet. The merchants described a bustling town square, and while they were in said square, it could hardly be described as _bustling_. The streets were empty, save for a small pen of winged animals, who squawked in surprise at their presence. The noise was jarring in the otherwise silent moment.

“I see what you mean by primitive, but is this how it’s supposed to be?”

“Unknown, Captain. I suggest that the structure up ahead is their town center and the most likely location of their community leaders. If you think it wise, I shall travel around the village and make some studies.”

“Meet you back inside. Be quick about it.” Kirk nodded and dismissed him.

Jogging, he took a quick circuit around the market place, tricorder out. All of the materials correlated completely with materials found on this planet and in this region. Every technological adaptation was made by hand or primitive machine, and all using local materials. Exactly what you would expect of a primitive culture. But merchants had reported this exact level of advancement at every visit to Organia, and the history of Federation member interaction with this planet stretched back 71.359 years.

“Hey! Hey you!” His head snapped up and his hand went for his weapon, though his mind belatedly registered that he was being spoken to in a language related to Vulcan.

There, running toward him across the market, was Nekae.

The Nomad had last been in contact with the Enterprise three days prior, and their last conversation had ended abruptly. She'd apparently been _invited to a killer party_ and wouldn't be back for days. At the time he had been relieved for the respite.

She displayed all of the characteristics that most wearied him now, as she ran towards him. She was loud, her face too demonstrative, her body language too active, almost violent. She was like a mentally impaired Vulcan, and he found himself constantly having to control the urge to reel back.

“What are you doing here?” she asked abruptly, stopping in front of him.

“That's classified. What are you doing here?”

“What's _classified_ mean when you say it? And I told you, I was going to a party.” _Why was everything she said such a non sequitur?_

“ _This_ is your definition of a party?” She looked at him and her face held an emotion he could not identify.

“No, I was at a party and then I came back to--” and then she stopped abruptly. She looked around, as if noticing her surroundings for the first time. “Something's going on here. We need to find an Organian.”

“That would seem a difficult task at the moment,” he replied, guiding them towards the center of town and the building where Captain Kirk would expect him.

“I mean, surely all this stuff doesn't look like you were expecting it to,” she added, her pace speeding up as he gradually sped up himself.

“Actually, it does. But the people are missing.”

“Uh, okay.” Her short answers and odd body language forced him to spend more energy on his controls than he ought. Her facial expressions suggested she thought _he_ was the one who was acting strangely and making strange assumptions.

They got to a large set of dark, wood-like doors. As he pushed them open he heard Kirk addressing what must be the Organian leadership.

“...with the Federation you'll have a choice. With the Klingons, you'll have none. That's the fundamental difference between us. We think your world is yours, and should always be yours.” Kirk spoke to a group of sitting male Organians, all dressed in simple tunics and leggings which matched the clothes replicated on the Enterprise. Only Nekae looked out of place in light brown shorts that ended at her thighs, a white top with two grey panels and a jacket that combined all of those colors.

“You should wear this, Dear,” a voice came up behind them both and Spock moved away as one of the Organians, an older man with a cap of white hair and blue eyes as bright as Kirk’s, draped a Vulcan robe over her shoulders. He heard Kirk excuse himself and was quickly drawn into conversation with him.

“What did you find out?” Kirk asked, and he turned his attention firmly to the matter at hand.

“This is a textbook example of an arrested culture. They haven't changed _at all_ for at least three quarters of a century, though my scans indicate that these constructions have been here, rebuilt again and again, for thousands of years. Further, there are no Organians on the street and no Klingons yet either.”

“They are here.” The Organian who had given Nekae a robe was now seated again, though Spock thought there was something wrong with that, as if he should have seen the other man walking back over.

“Who is here? And I still don't get why I have to wear this,” the Nomad focused her comments on the Organian she was obviously familiar with, though Spock could think of better questions to ask.

“How does he know that?” Kirk spoke to the Organian in the center, who looked younger, even with mostly grey and white hairs in his short beard, and just by placement alone seemed a good guess for a leader of this group.

“Our friend Trefayne is really quite intuitive. If he says something, you can rest assured he is correct,” the younger Organian responds, his voice calm like he is speaking to a child. The tone offended his Captain, but the result is not obvious. _His control is improving_.

The door opened and a pair of Klingons entered the room. They held the door open for a third Klingon, whose uniform and the pomp around him suggested he was some sort of official. He recognized that he has only moments to come up with a new plan.

While they are dressed as Organians, Nekae was given a more traditional Vulcan robe. The assumption that they are Organians and she is a visitor partially fits the visual, but its conclusion is unacceptable. The Klingons would undoubtedly torture her. And he cannot possibly be an Organian himself, as he has had no time to adjust his divergent facial features and hide his ears. He quickly came up with a new plan that fit with what the Klingons were seeing.

He reached out, grabbed the Nomad by the arm, and pulled her off to the side of the room. She looked outraged, but said nothing.

“I am Kor, Military Governor of Organia. Where are all your people?” the Klingon demanded, instinctively addressing the same Organian Kirk spoke to before.

“I am Ayleborne, and I chair the Council of Elders. We bid you welcome. We anticipated your arrival and our people are in their homes. We thought keeping the streets clear would be more convenient. I apologize if I was incorrect.” He spoke calmly and smiled, as did all of the others on the council except Trefayne, who looked over at the Nomad with some concern.

 _Perhaps assuring her safety will help us build friendly relations with the Organians. If we could get them on our side, the probability that we will leave this planet alive rises to 12.486%_ he reasoned, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings.

“And who are you? Why aren't you in your home?” Kor addressed Kirk, to whom he was standing dangerously close. Spock knew the Klingon Commander would not hesitate to kill Kirk if he knew their true identities. The Enterprise's breach of Klingon borders on their mission to recover Khan, then the fugitive Harrison, was one of the many events that contributed to this break down of negotiations.

“That's Barona, our First Citizen,” Ayleborne added helpfully.

“Does he have his own tongue?” Kor snarled back, clearly bothered by something in these proceedings.

“I have a tongue-” Kirk said quickly. Too quickly. Spock looked him up and down, taking into account the tension in his shoulders and arms. The Klingons would be familiar enough with humans to notice it too. It could break their cover.

“Yes,” Kor drawled, this response making him happier for some reason Spock could not fathom. “And where is your smile?”

“My what?”

“That idiotic smile everyone else seems to be wearing.” _Ah_ , Spock thought, finally understanding, _the Klingon Commander is put off by the passive response from the Organians._ Kirk turned inward, and again Spock thought the situation might unravel.

“And Vulcans!” Kor turned on him, thankfully taking the attention from his Captain. “Vulcans are members of the Federation. They might be spies!”

“They aren't spies.” Kirk was back, but seemed different, a little more controlled. Kor seemed to appreciate this response as well.

“You certainly do have a tongue,” Kor said, looking at Kirk before turning to address the unlikely pair before him. “Who are you? Explain yourselves at once!” Spock spoke quickly, before the Nomad could say something outrageous and throw their plan in doubt.

“I am Spock, a trader in Kivas and Trillium. This is my bondmate, T'Kay.” He raised his shields and then extended two fingers to her, looking over towards her with a guarded expression. Her hand rose as she regarded him with a curious expression, thankfully restrained enough that it could fall within Vulcan norms. She flicked her two front fingers out in quick, fluid motion ( _switchblade_ his mind supplied an analogy based on an old Earth motion picture he had seen as a young adult) and touched them to his.

His eyebrows rose, shocked at his discovery. At her touch he felt nothing, and even with his shields up he knew that was not normal. Not a psi-null mind, like Nyota's, or a psi-trained consciousness, like T'Pring's. Not even an alien consciousness like so many he had encountered in his time in Starfleet. She felt psi negative, like a severely untelepathic Vulcan, who on his world would be seen as someone with a disability.

He kept his face controlled, and turned to watch Kor. Did he believe their ruse? But Kor looked preoccupied with Kirk.

“You seem troubled by the idea that I might take them for questioning. Would you stop me?” Kor asked Kirk, aka Barona. Kirk lowered his head, hands clasped in front of him.

“It doesn't seem as though I could stop you. They just haven't done anything to deserve being harmed.” Kirk was still subdued, his voice low. Even as quiet as he had gotten, there was still a steel edge behind it.

“This is practically a rebellion coming from you, Organian. Good! Good. I think you are someone I can work with. I need a liaison to the civil population, and I choose you for that task.”

“Me?” Kirk questioned, clearly trying to get out of this inappropriate role. It was one thing to negotiate with the Organians, but entirely another to represent them.

“Yes, you,” Kor turned back to the group, “Unless any of you have a problem with that.” He was met with calm eyes and full smiles. “Ugh,” he verbalized in response.

“As I said before, I am the Military Governor to Organia. You are now subjects of the Klingon Empire. As such, there are some rules and regulations to which you must get acquainted. They will be posted.”

“We will follow your regulations, Governor,” Ayleborne said, nodding and smiling as if he had not just been told that Klingons had annexed his world.

“I will have order,” Kor continued to push. “If a single Klingon soldier is killed, a thousand Organians will die.”

“I assure you, we want nothing but peace,” Alebourne added. Kor shot them one more disgusted look and then started issuing orders.

“Take the Vulcans to Interrogation. Barona, you will come with me. As Liaison, I will teach you the rules and you will share them with your people.”

“Leave the Vulcans, I beg you. They've truly done nothing.” Kirk was sincere, though Spock questioned the logic of continuing to resist at this juncture.

“If they've done nothing, and are really just Vulcan traders, then we'll let them go. Though they will find that business has taken a turn for the worst. Come!” With that the Klingons moved out of the Hall with Kor first, Kirk behind him, and then Spock and the Nomad.

“T'Kay? And I thought that Vulcans weren't able to---”

“--Quiet!” Spock quickly silenced Nekae as they were both walked from the Hall to an adjoining building with smaller rooms. Though she was speaking in her old, odd form of Vulcan and he was confident they could not translate it, given their own Universal Translator's difficulties, it was still imprudent to speak plainly.

“Quiet, my bondmate,” he added, watching some of the Klingon soldiers pay attention to his tone, even if they could not understand his words, “We are in genuine danger here, and I am working to secure your safety,” he added, his voice softer, hoping the soldiers would mistake their back-and-forth for that of a genuinely bonded pair. Having only one real example at his disposal, he tried to imagine how his father would act, were his parents in this situation.

That in itself was not far outside of his own experiences. As a young child, he had accompanied his parents on many diplomatic missions. There was a break in this, though, when he turned eight, and after that he stayed on Vulcan for while his parents traveled off world off-and-on until he was fifteen, and joined his father's delegation as an attache.

When he was seven they had traveled to Coridan on one of the Federation's many attempts to get the system to join its ranks. The mission was considered a low risk, and so his parents brought him along. At that time, his days were mostly spent in his rooms at the Vulcan Embassy, studying while his parents worked. One day, deep in a physics text and running sample equations through his mind his thoughts were interrupted by his mother, who ran in and pulled him up from his seated position on the floor.

“Are you okay?!” she had said, her voice shrill as she visually assessed him. Then, not satisfied, she put her fingers to his temple. She was not telepathic on her own, so this was her way of telling him to push his physical state over the parental bond to her. He did, shocked by this odd interruption, feeling his mother's distress and thinking this would be the best way to calm her. She sighed out a deep breath, and her hand dropped from his temple to his shoulders. And then he was drawn into what his mother called _a hug_ , his body engulfed in hers.

This was after he had discovered research that showed the positive health effects of said practice, and specifically how it could help calm the distressed, which led him to conclude that it was logical for his mother, raised by her own non-telepathic parents, to use this method to calm him in times of perceived difficulty. He slowed his own heart and spaced his breaths, which she then mirrored, and they stood thus for 1.5138 minutes.

Then his father entered the room. His pupils were wider, and thus his eyes darker, than normal and he strode across the room in fewer steps than his observed average. Spock watched as his father took his mother's hands, assessing her state as she had just assessed his. He nodded and then spoke to his mother in a low, soft voice.

“Gather the go bag. We need to leave.”

“What's happened?” Even calm, his mother's voice was louder than it needed to be, and colored with tension.

“Some young Orions want to make a name for themselves. We should go, now.” He still spoke softly, and urged her when he just could have located their emergency bag himself and carried her out.

No matter the danger, his parents were always a team. In this instance, though he wanted to incapacitate her and just drag her through this, it might appear amiss if they were not in partnership.

“We aren't in any danger,” Nekae hissed, still in her own language.

“I strongly disagree with your statement. As you are unfamiliar with the inner workings of the relationship between the Klingon Empire and the Federation, I ask that you let me take the lead in this next interaction.” He kept his voice at the same pitch his father's had been, and though still in an unfamiliar language, he said nothing to betray them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For episode casting, scene clips, more information about the TOS episode Errand of Mercy, and some high quality fic recs visit http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com


	11. Chapter 11: Errand of Mercy Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock are trapped on Organia, a planet with a primitive people currently under Klingon Occupation. Trapped with a Nomad on one side, Organians in the middle, and Klingons all around, will our heroes get out of this one alive?

She nodded to him and they were led into a room with yellow walls. There was only one chair, in the middle of the room, poised next to a large machine. The machine had a cord that led to a helmet, and a touch panel facing Spock's direction with options in Klingon.

_Engage Mindsifter_

_Level 1_

_Level 2_

_Level 3_

_Level 4 (Warning: Fatal)_

Spock had read about the mindsifter in his last Intelligence packet. The Klingons had used it successfully on human members of Starfleet and had a mandate to try it on other Federation species.

_Even if he believes our ruse, it is still in his benefit to torture at least one of us,_ Spock thinks to himself. He turns to Nekae.

“Do not try to disarm them, no matter what you see or hear from me,” he said, head bent forward, imagining how his father would counsel his mother, “They do not need a Vulcan woman to go through the machine if they have a Vulcan man.” And while normally her incessant questions grated at him, this time he was expecting them. His mother always questioned his father, and certainly would in this instance.

“Why would they _need_ a Vulcan man, but not a woman?”

“Women do not normally serve in the Federation's fleet.” Her eyes widened then, and he was certain she understood what was about to happen. He was moved to the chair and sat before he could be pushed. Vulcans were actually stronger than Klingons, but he needed to stay in character as a trader.

“Let's see how he does. I'm sure someone's gonna make a pile of darseks tonight!” The metal helmet was placed on his head and then they activated the device. At first, it seemed like it had not worked. Then one of the Klingon soldiers spoke.

**“What is your name?”** he said, the words thundering at Spock in every way possible. They were loud, blinding, breath-taking, and they echoed in his mind as if they had been telepathically transmitted as well.

“ _Spock..._ ” he answered, thankful that he could give the right answer without fighting. He had no way of estimating how long he could last against this onslaught.

**“Who is this woman?”** This was harder, but he held back the first part of her name. As if they were close, and he only needed a piece of her name to represent the whole.

_“kae...”_ he answered again. He clung to this new knowledge, that if his answer were partially the truth then he did not have to fight. He just had to think, which was a feat in itself.

**“Turn it up.”** He did not immediately understand this, not until they spoke again.

**“Are you spies for the Federation?”** The words were so bright, but his inner eyelids did not close to protect him. They thundered in his hears, but his eardrums did not burst. And they were in his mind, and he knew he could not lie. He was so relieved that he did not have to in this instance. Spies was plural, and certainly _kae_ was no spy for the Federation.

_“No...”_

**“One more time.”**

**“ARE YOU SPIES FOR THE FEDERATION?”**

_“NO!”_ Someone screamed then, maybe he did, but there was a drop in pressure in the room and he felt his head, neck, and shoulders slump forward.

He was like that for several minutes, something going on around him that he could not commit to caring about. Then silence, and warm hands on his face.

“Hey, can you hear me? They're gone now. Hey?” His head was lifted from where his chin rested on his chest. He looked at _kae_ , who he was here with, here on Organia. She expelled air in a hard breath, saying something he did not care to translate, and then she put her hands and fingers on his face. He could still see them, despite the thought that he should be blinded by now, and he watched her close her eyes.

_Help me. I need to get in there. He's hurt._

_This seems like a bad idea. Give me a good reason why._

A second voice joined hers, but while hers was in his ears this other voice was in his mind. A male, which should not be if she is here with him.

_He's hurt because he was protecting me._

_Very well._

This he felt much more intensely than when the mindsifter was activated. A much stronger telepath peeled back his barriers, pushing Nekae into his mind along with whoever this intruder was.

And then he was standing on the edge of the Katric Arc, on the ledge at the mouth of the cavern. It was crumbling and his mother was on the edge.

He watched her fall into the black hole.

This was a scene that had played itself out in his mind, his meditations, and even his dreams many times. And each time, regardless of his own desires, he felt the maelstrom of emotions that accompanied it. _Fear, shock, denial, primal terror_...

But this time was different. The memory began, but he felt _confidence, hope, excitement, commitment..._

And the memory continued, his mother surrounded in darkness, winds whipping around her, as she fell endlessly. Until below her there was a light, which she rushed towards, and soon she was falling out of the sky, on Vulcan, heavy gravity pulling her fast towards the ground.

From her side he rushed in, flying as if from a jump, and catching her in one arm.

_Triumph_

His eyes opened. He was in the yellow room, hands on his face, still tied to a chair. The hands were removed, and he heard an impact. Lifting his head, which was difficult but not impossible, he saw Nekae. Her skin was flushed green and she was gasping, taking in large gulps of air. Pulling his arms, he discovered she had undone his bonds at some point.

He rose and moved over to her. He was slow, but he did have some control over his movements. In moments, he was on the tiled floor, on his knees as he leaned over the Nomad.

“Do you require assistance?”

“No! No no...” she trailed off, and scooting herself back and out from under him she pushed herself up on her arms. “I'm so sorry. I know that looked a little weird, but I promise you its fine. Everything's completely empty.” Was she so confusing due to after effects from the mindsifter, or was it just how nonsensical she normally was?

“Pardon?”

“You saw my lady. The lady who was falling. I know that looks weird and---wait, you saw her right?”

_My lady_ she said. _The lady who was falling_. His mind was at once still and completely focused. He thought she had seen his memory, but now she was claiming that he saw hers.

“Yes,” he said simply, hoping she would say more. She nodded.

“That's what I thought. Anyway, I know it looks crazy but she's fine. Or she will be. That's just my thing.”

_She's fine. Or she will be._ He was utterly unable to conjure up possible scenarios that explained this conversation, but he knew better than to allow for hope. It was an emotion and, like all the others, required control.

“I see.” She nodded at that, and then started to rise. She reached out to help him, but ended up needing help too, which lead to a tug-and-pull as they helped each other.

Thoughts from the minutes and hours leading up to the interrogation started to hit his consciousness, and he remembered that he was imitating his father's behavior. She was helping him, but even if they were both hurt he knew his father would be focused on his mother as the priority. He shifted, moving into her arm around his waist---which stabilized his stance—so that he could lift an arm over her shoulders.

He needed to know more about _the lady who was falling_ , but he did not want to rouse suspicion. He thought of the most casual way to reengage the topic as they walked.

“She fell on Vulcan. How will she be _fine_?” Nekae turned her head towards him, eye level with his chin.

“She's my destiny. Its complicated, but don't worry about her.” She was looking into his eyes, and hers reflected the confidence and determination he had felt in the link. “I've got her.”

He thought himself weak, but his controls were strong enough to conceal his surprise at her statement. Still looking into her eyes, he committed right then as well. He would do whatever was necessary to get this full story, on the very small chance (at the moment not enough data to even estimate precisely how small) that it could lead to his mother.

The door opened and the guards entered the room again. Standing, Spock pulled her away from them, slightly behind him, using body language the way his father would if his mother were threatened. The Klingons seemed to understand this and even to respect it, stepping back and giving the two room. They were ushered into a room with Kirk and Kor.

“Report,” Kor ordered.

“They are what they claim to be, Commander. Vulcanian merchants named Spock and T'Kay. Their main concern seems to be each others' safety under our occupation.” He looked down at her, taking the opportunity to reinforce the body language component of their ruse. Their eyes locked and she mirrored the emotion he was feigning. She seemed to understand it now. Perhaps his intentions got through while they were mentally tethered.

“Anything else?”

“The usual. A certain amount of apprehension regarding us. His mind is remarkably disciplined.” As disciplined as a Vulcan in Starfleet would be.

“Are you sure you broke through?”

“We used force three, sufficient to break through any pretense.” He tested this against his memory and confirmed that he did remember three distinct levels. He was also able to recall the display, which featured four levels, where the fourth was labeled _fatal_. He would need to document that in his report, should they escape---now 15.761% with this task accomplished _if_ they have also garnered the Organians' support---and the fact that the Klingons thought three levels was enough.

“Sufficient.” He turned to Kirk, evaluating him as one would an enemy. “Would _you_ like to try our _truth finder_?” Kirk looked in Spock's direction showing concern, which Spock thought he should be working harder to conceal.

“I don't understand,” Kirk asked, and he suspected the Captain was fishing for more information as well. Of course his emotion would have a logical purpose.

“It is a mindsifter, or a mind ripper, depending on how much force we use. We can record every thought, every bit of knowledge in a man's mind. But if we use that much force, well, there won't be much of anything left. He would be a mental vegetable.” At his side, Nekae stiffened at this, and looked at him again. He met her questioning eyes and nodded. _He was fine_.

“It is a tool--” Kor had continued his conversation with Kirk, “--somewhat brutal. But efficient.”

“Are you sure you're alright?” He looked up, realizing he was being spoken to, and some response was expected.

“Certainly. But it was an interesting experience.” He felt Nekae move at his side, a puff that he suspected was a laugh.

“Alright Vulcan! You may go!” Kor directed his comments at Spock specifically. “But know this: You are an enemy alien, under our scrutiny at all times.” Kor looked over at his men and one of them nodded to him. He continued, “And we spared your woman, knowing how your people are about your _mates_ , but we can always bring you in again. Do we understand one another?”

“I understand you. Very well.” He remembered his father’s next conversation with the Emissary from the Orion Syndicate after the incident. Sarek’s tone had colored ever so slightly with emotion. Now, Spock understood it was because he loved his mother. Then it had only led to more questions.

Outside, walking on the street that led through the center of the village they were in, Kirk quickly found them a place to sit. There was a stone bench just off the road and Kirk ushered them over.

“Sit, Spock. Is he okay?” he asked the Nomad.

“I think so. He wasn’t at first.” They shared a look, which did not make any sense to him. On all of the calls between their two vessels, she always focused her attention on Kirk. Spock assumed this was to avoid Sarek and any other Vulcan, himself included. Now he wondered if in even that short a time Kirk had been able to develop a rapport. There had been rumors about Kirk’s “way with women” since before his days as a cadet.

“But it can’t have been that bad, right?” Now his Captain was addressing him.

“I would not underestimate it. The device reaches directly into the mind.” This defense of its power seemed to make the Captain more anxious, and he watched as the human visually verified his health---or lack thereof.

“But you tricked it,” Kirk said, pitching his voice lower. Spock nodded.

“Vulcans have… mental defenses. They are necessary, as we are touch telepaths. These defenses are built and reinforced through mental disciplines. Without these disciplines, there is no defense against this device.” Nekae was still close to him, so when she shifted he felt it. He looked over, a small gesture out of the corner of his eye. She looked uncomfortable, like she was reminded of something that made her want to move away from him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, switching languages and softening his tone so she recognized that he was talking to her.

“Nothing why?”

“We must keep up appearances,” he reminded her, looking around. There were Klingons everywhere now, in almost every open space, and going in and out of every building. She nodded, her eyes narrowing, and then relaxed into his arm.

“Watch where you’re looking, Organian!” a Klingon roared. He was across the street and the Captain was staring at him.

“Captain, I strongly suggest we focus on accomplishing our mission here.”

“Are you saying this because you think I need a reminder not to start a fight?” Kirk asked, his blue eyes bright with a dark humor.

“Yes,” he said with confidence, knowing it would raise the human’s spirits.

“What mission? Why are you here?” Nekae asked, and he found himself straightening.

“It’s classified,” the Captain answered.

“That’s what you said before,” she said, turning in his arm to look up at him. “Does it just mean _secret_? Is it really the case that it is so secret, I can’t even know that its secret?” He remembered why she bothered him.

“We were pressed for time before and I did not estimate that we had enough of it for me to explain.”

“So, let’s catch up,” Kirk broke in the middle, seeing a familiar sight and jumping in before a disagreement turned into anything more. “We’re here representing the Federation. The rest is classified. Why are you here? I thought you were going to a party.”

At that, she shot Spock a self-satisfied look, as if to say _that was what you were supposed to say_ , and continued. “We have a relationship with the Organians.”

“What do you mean, a relationship? There are a few traders we know of that come down here, and most rarely, if ever. The Organians just don’t really have much to attract intergalactic notice, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. Honestly, I’m not sure you really get them. Anyway, we have a relationship with them because of a planet in our system.”

“The Organians are not a space-capable race,” Spock began, as he realized that he had unconsciously shifted positions---confirming the mythical _lecture mode_ that so many on the Enterprise claimed he had---noticing only because the Nomad was still at his side. It was an odd sensation, being warm on one side, “and thus could not have concerns as far away as Nomad territory.”

“Wrong. Well, not wrong, but not right either. And I don’t know why they are letting you be not-wrong-not-right on this, but it is not mine to discuss.” She shrugged, an odd sensation against his arm and side, and looked away. He managed to shut her down every time he contributed to their conversations via comm, and now he was replicating that result in live action. He looked to Kirk, knowing they were losing the chance to collect vital information about this new race.

“Forget them for a minute. What planet? I mean, what kind of planet could the Organians possibly care about?” Kirk’s tone and body language was casual, as if nothing socially abrupt had just occurred.

“The Time Planet. Its the whole reason we’re where we are.” Kirk leaned in and Spock mimicked the motion, leaning into their makeshift embrace. “It is deep within our system and, legend has it that when our ancestors were expelled from Vulcan, they passed it on their way. The planet gives off waves and waves of temporal displacement and if you are sleeping while exposed to the waves, you get glimpses of other times.”

“Glimpses?” Spock asked. He had a theory that he wanted to test.

“Yes, glimpses. Like, into the future.”

“Wait, are you saying your people use this planet to know the future?” Kirk responded, his mind busy with the implications, were that true.

“No no no. It goes like this: Thousands of years ago, our ancestors ships were sailing through space, uncharted space that had never been explored by our kind before. And then they were all stopped, a whole group of ships, caught in these waves. And our people, if they were asleep or unconscious or in utero, each saw something. Just one thing, individual to them. That thing is their destiny.” Spock had heard many odd origin stories from many different species, and even wild ideas often had normal, scientific explanations. It was not out of the mean of likely probabilities that these forced explorers discovered a new phenomenon in previously unexplored space.

And then he remembered the Andorian historical star charts.

“Is this Time Planet in the middle of the space between Tesnia, Sigma Seti, and Pollux?” He caught the Captain’s eyes just as they lit up, and he knew the Captain remembered their briefing, and the odd place where the first Vulcan expatriots stayed for 23 days with no explanation.

“Yes. Why, do the Andorians know it is there too? Not that it matters. It is impossible to land on, even if you know where it is.”

“Because of the waves of time displacement?” Kirk asked. She nodded.

Spock turned to the side to address her, careful to maintain body language and voice modulation appropriate for their ruse, but staying in Standard so the Captain could keep up.

“You said before that the _falling woman_ was your destiny. Do you use that same word here intending the same meaning?” Kirk looked confused but did not ask. He would make sure to brief him fully later, if they escaped.

“Yes. When our mothers are pregnant, they take a trip to the Time Planet and spend some of their pregnancy in orbit there. All of us have a destiny, something we saw while there that _will_ at some point happen in our lives. Something we’ll _do_. The thing we make _sure_ happens.”

Spock knew he needed to focus on the mission. He could not allow his curiosity to work against him, not with such a low percentage for possible survival.

“And this is how you know the Organians?” He was beginning to be able to distinguish yes or no just from her small movements.

“Yes. Some of them travel there as well, and once, long ago, one met a Nomad just as you met me.”

“I see. And you know Trefayne well?” Spock wondered if he could collect additional data to support his theory that protecting the Nomad would turn the Organians in their favor.

“Yeah, we’re friends. Every now and then I come out this way to party, and then afterword I come by here for a visit. I guess, in this place,” she articulated with one hand, moving it around in a wide motion, as if to indicate everything around them, “I guess you’d say he was an innkeeper.”

“What do you mean, 'in this place'?” Kirk asked. The thought for a few moments before she answered.

“I mean, normally when I come here, this,” she waived her hand around again, “is not what I see.”

“Could you perhaps explain it a different way?” Spock asked, and he could tell immediately from her movements that this was the wrong question.

“I honestly can’t think of a better way to explain it,” she said drily, obviously annoyed.

“Either way,” Kirk said, watching as a group of Klingon soldiers walked by, gesturing rudely and making lazy, obnoxious sounds, “eventually the Organians are going to start to resent how the Klingons run things.”

“I don’t think you’re right about that.” Nekae leaned in, and Spock moved with her, his chest at her back. “These are patient people, Kirk. They’ll stay in occupation for thousands of years if it will teach somebody a lesson. If you want to get something done around here, you need to make some noise. Cause some trouble. Blow some shit up.” Kirk smiled, and Spock had the feeling that was exactly the type of thing his Captain wanted to do to relieve all of this built up tension. He caught Kirk’s eye.

“You’ll need a distraction, Barona.”

“Do you have something in mind, Mr. Spock.”

“Indeed I do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For scene clips and a little supplemental reading, visit my tumblr at http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	12. Chapter 12: Errand of Mercy Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock are still on Organia, and as time runs out their attempts to get out from under Klingon Occupation and back to the Enterprise get more and more desperate. 
> 
> What is the true nature of the Organians? How will our heroes cope with being in the middle of a Klingon Invasion Force?

The Vulcan traders made their way, still with their arms around one another, through the town square towards what Nekae called “the inn”. After drawing the attention of a group of Klingon soldiers---since apparently public assemblages of more than three people were against Klingon colony regulations and the three of them sitting together was “challenging their authority”---they separated. Captain Kirk was on his way to find something combustible, and Spock was tasked with working with Nekae to _create a distraction_.

When they were seated on the bench, it seemed as though Spock's first idea for a distraction---to take advantage of the threat to his _mate_ by losing control and starting an altercation with a group of Klingon soldiers---was feasible and perhaps even facile as well. Klingons knew well how territorial and out-of-character Vulcans could be when it came to their mates and children.

Now that he was mobile again he questioned his ability to enact such a plan. His mind was still affected by what the mindsifter had done to it, which included muscle control. And while he could probably walk unassisted, his current arrangement both furthered their ruse and was comfortable. The Nomad was as strong as a Vulcan, which meant she could carry him easily. The thought of working with someone who was actually as strong as he was felt like a novelty. And as he was engaged in watching and listening to the small crowd of Klingons following them, he had no qualms about relying on her in this way.

At least they were moving in the right direction. Spock's preliminary scouting, compared with the aftermath of Klingon touchdown on Organia, suggested several logical sites for Klingon weapons storage. All of them were on one side of the town, whereas the inn was on the other side. As an added plus, the inn was a location where they were likely to encounter Trefayne, Nekae's Organian contact. Demonstrating his commitment to keeping her safe should contribute to securing Organian support, which would raise their likelihood of escaping the planet alive considerably---to 15.761%.

As the approached the building, which was several levels tall and had a wooden sign suspended from wood posts by a rusty linked chain informing him that it was indeed an “Inn”, Trefayne came out to great them.

“My Dear, perhaps this isn't the best place for you right now...” he began, only to have Nekae push past him, dragging Spock alongside her.

“Should we not be more polite?” Spock asked, quietly, still trying to keep his voice pleasant though even he heard the edge. She stopped then, abruptly enough that Spock almost took a wrong step.

“ _You_ want _me_ to be polite to _him_?” Her habit of enunciating the parts of speech she felt most affronted by reminded him of their first meeting. He raised both eyebrows, _playing innocent_ as his father often would with his mother.

“Why would I ever counsel you otherwise?” Narrowing her eyes, she moved them to a balcony seat, where they could be seen by Klingons both inside and outside the establishment.

“An excellent choice.” Trefayne was at the table with them, and again Spock felt as though he had missed something. He attributed it to the mindsifter as his probabilities plummeted at Nekae's next words.

“You should go. No more than three people can gather in public at a time, and they really don’t like even that many. Klingon rules, you know.” Despite all of the danger she was flippant and, Spock noted, somewhat more relaxed.

“You are upset at being stranded.” Trefayne bent his head as he said it, as if his body were apologizing too.

“No,” Nekae spoke slowly, as if she were explaining something very complex in as simple a way possible, “I’m not. I was supposed to stay here for weeks. What sense would that make?”

“You said days,” Spock said quietly. Her eyes cut to his.

“I lied. Nomads can do that.”

“Are you judging me right now?”

“You are upset because of the accommodations.” The Organian ignored their banter.

“No, actually it is all kind of quaint.” This time her tone was dismissive. She turned her head, looking away from the elder and into Spock's shirt.

Circumstances could not continue in this way. The Organian was obviously trying to court her favor, and her dismissals were all making winning the council’s favor less and less likely. Without it their chances dropped 4.893 percentage points.

“She does not seem to understand why you are not being clear about your planet and your nature with us,” Spock offered helpfully. Then he felt a tap.

She had swatted his chest, actually hitting him with the back of her hand, though obviously not with the intention to hurt. He had witnessed his mother do this to his father on many occasions, and as an observer was often troubled by it. Now he took it as a message. He should remember to stay in character.

“I do understand why they’re acting the way they’re acting,” she shot back, her voice almost petulant.

“Perhaps you are too close to the conflict,” Trefayne mused, his tone a little lighter.

“ _Too close_?” Nekae rose from his chest and leaned forward as she spoke, and Spock was glad he had yet to hear that tone from her. “I’m inside of it. Literally. At any moment any of these men could decide we are being _too rebellious_ and drag me off to the mindsifter. And we are probably already there, since you’ve set such a low bar for rebellion!” Her voice was low, but there was an obvious anger in her words.

She had been subdued up to this point, almost Vulcan in her mannerisms, and he had been forced to interpret her smallest movements and gestures to understand her. Now she was getting more overt in her emotionalism, and that was drawing attention from the soldiers. He pushed himself forward in the chair, leaning into her posture and lowering his head.

“This is not the kind of attention we are seeking,” he reminded her gently, hesitant to speak to her in this mood.

“You are assisting them now?” Trefayne seemed genuinely surprised.

“What choice do I have? These strangers---“ her eyes cut to Spock again, then away---“possibly enemies, are the only beings on this planet willing to protect me in what is _apparently_ a dangerous situation.” He breathed out a tenth of a breath longer than his inhalation, calming as it now became clear that she truly grasped the danger of the situation in which they found themselves. The Organian’s surprise turned to shock, and then to an emotion was unable to identify.

“You are not in any danger, of course.” Trefayne's tone was low and reassuring, his brows knitted together.

“We’ll see. Now go. I meant what I said before. We’ve already been driven away from one place and my bondmate is tired.” Her tone was cold and light, and in that moment he was reminded of T’Pring.

He rolled his shoulder, working out an unanticipated enervation of nerves down his spine. There were other realities. In another reality, he could be here with T’Pring as his wife. Then the Nomad's curls tickled his nose again, and he was brought back to the present.

They were alone at the table. Spock felt as though he should have said goodbye. While his Captain might be frustrated with the Organians’ lack of outrage at their occupation, Spock reminded himself that they were the ones truly accountable. Were the Federation able to negotiate with or defend from the Klingons, Organia never would have been invaded. There was no excuse for him to be rude.

“So?” she nudged him in the side, and he looked over and down at her. “We’ve got their attention. So what’s the plan?” He nodded slowly, trying to mimic this situation if his parents were in it. His father would not be outwardly guarded, but inwardly he would be completely focused on his mother’s safety. Spock used the corners of his vision to map out the room and the ground below the balcony. He positioned every Klingon, and noticed how careless they were. Some were paying attention to them, but most were engaged with one another, oblivious.

“The plan had been to take them on in combat, but I think I overestimated my recovered abilities.” He confessed this to her, hoping she would have an alternative. She struggled then, pushing herself around in his embrace until they were chest-to-chest and her face looked up at his.

“Are you kidding me?” She questioned him, holding out for the possibility that he might be joking. He shook his head and she lowered hers, laughing a tired, pained set of laughs.

“Now, understand before I start this that--” she stared up at him and pointed her finger in his face, resting her wrist lightly on his chest--“I think this entire conversation is ridiculous. That said, _are you serious_?” His eyes widened at the tone he had just sought to avoid.

“You seem displeased.”

“I am. My ancestors didn't adapt to life in space so that you could lie and fight. You are supposed to be in control of your emotions, and you are supposed to understand sacrifice. My people don't make those claims and for that, yours kicked them off our world.”

Spock drew back, this line of accusation completely unexpected. She was accusing him of not being Vulcan enough. No, more than that. She was rising up and demanding that he adhere to the principles he had chosen for himself.

“The situation requires...”

“I'm sure when Surak faced off against those who marched beneath the Raptor's wings, the situation had similar requirements.” He shut his mouth and bowed his head. She was correct. The ease with which he adopted lying and considered violence was wholly unacceptable.

He felt her twist around, as if looking over his shoulders. Then she shifted, pressing herself closer to him.

“I've upset you. Now they expect me to comfort you.” Her voice was quiet, and for a moment he did not know what she would do. “Perhaps I should _bru-hish-la'_.” He blinked, the word unexpected in this context.

“ _bru-hish-la'_ : to engage in a ritualistic touching between mated pairs, both a public and private activity with different levels of involvement for each participant.” Spock sounded like he was giving a definition he had just looked up a dictionary. Nekae snorted.

“Let me guess, you are too logical to _bru-hish-la'_ , but lying and brawling on occasion, as long as the _cause is sufficient_ , is cool? Don't you realize that the only reason you avoid _bru-hish-la'_ is that it has a tendency to end in lying and brawling?” His brows knit together.

“Wait, you don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?” He shook his head and she pressed her head into his shirt, hiding behind his collar. He looked down and could see the edge of a smile on the left side of her mouth. Then she looked up, catching his eye.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

She reached up, stretching her neck and pressing her lips to his. The touch was brief, and instantly he understood. _Bru-hish-la'_ was to give a kiss. His eyebrows climbed.

“Don't look so shocked,” she said, looking away and speaking softly, a green flush rising in her cheeks, “not now that we have the audience we want.” He belatedly realized that they had the attention of all the Klingons now, both in the inn around them and outside on the ground.

But more than that, he learned something else. Her profound mindblindedness meant that touching her was a fascinating experience. It was of course arresting to have a female in such close quarters, mostly because only one woman had ever occupied that space, and never when he was supposed to be working. But with Nyota, and almost anyone else in his experience---and even some animals---touching of any kind was a conductor for him. Touch conducted emotions, intentions, thoughts and could be pleasant or unpleasant, and nearly every gradation in between. But with her, it was as if they were just fingers, or just lips. Nothing was conducted.

He bent his head low and raised his hand, hooking her chin. Turning her face back up to his, he _bru-hish-la'_. Now that he was prepared, he could demonstrate the skills he had acquired over years of kissing. When her face moved away, her eyes were unfocused, her lids heavy.

“Liar. And we just spoke on this topic. There's no way you didn't know what _bru-hish-la'_ means.” She licked her lips.

“I assure you that I did not. However, the fact that _bru-hish-la'_ mirrors what humans call “kissing” is something I omitted.”

“Omission is just another form of lying.”

“Your standards for honesty are rather high.”

“They aren't my standards.”

He kissed her again, this time paying a sliver of attention to the Klingon conversation around him as he did so. The Klingons were shocked, though no one mentioned the fact that this scenario didn't fit with their image of Vulcans. To them, this was just a private behavior they were getting a chance to witness.

They took turns trading _bru-hish-la'_ and then conversing in short bursts. On the street below, other Klingons were converging on the Inn, and from what he could hear, they were indeed the reason for the crowd. Reasons for their behavior ranged from _a reaction to their nearness to certain death_ , _something she did because he was ill from the torture_ , and _something he did to calm her fears._

Just as she pulled away from him, her eyes heavy and her lips plumped and wet, a vibration hit him in the stomach. It was the forerunner to a shock wave, which confirmed that his Captain had found an appropriate target.

Nekae gasped, and her body shook, and instinct must have taken over because he pulled her into his arms and lap just as a powerful explosion detonated. Several more popped off after, all shorter and more violent, and her hands went up the cover her ears. His stayed on her shoulders, though as the sounds hit he was reminded of the mindsifter, blinding and deafening.

Klingons flooded out of the Inn and the streets seemed to drain to the West, towards the possible weapons sites. Nekae nudged out of his arms and scooted back, getting more space than either one of them had gotten in hours.

“They are coming for you. Run.” Trefayne was back, standing next to their table.

“No. You want to teach us a lesson. Then let things unfold as they should.” Her voice came out shaky as they both moved from their seats, and he wondered whether it was the explosions or something else.

Trefayne stepped back, standing in a shadow with light from a fire playing off him in the background. For a moment he seemed bigger. More powerful.

More sinister.

Below them was a crash---a table fell---and then there were boots on the stairs. He reached out for her, yanking her off the floor and behind him.

“ _Kroyahkai_!” she hissed, and even though the ancient word had more syllables than the modern command, he was still stopped by it. She was surprisingly committed to him living as a follower of Surak. Belatedly he realized that he had full command over his body again, and he used this knowledge to pick her up, loop an arm under her knees, and hold her against him as he was shoved forward.

As he was maneuvered outside, two lines of Klingon soldiers formed up, running all the way up to two guards framing the door. He was expected to walk between them, and for a moment wondered if they thought he would bear her straight to the mindsifter. If so, he would have to disappoint her, since allowing her to be forced to endure the mindsifter was more than enough to justify violence on his part, regardless of her objections. Then, far ahead of them he saw Kirk, also captured.

He knew exactly where they were going next.

* * *

 

“No Klingons were killed, but they are using this to make an example anyway. As they marched me over, I saw soldiers walking Organians from their homes. _Walking them_ , because even as they are walking to their deaths the Organians are still smiling, still passive. What will it take to move these people?”

“Unknown, Captain.”

The Captain was pacing their cell, and his face and body language had been precursors to unwise decisions in over 95.561% of instances. Spock elected to keep him speaking, so as to remind him that there were additional individuals present, and hopefully prevent any rashness on Kirk's part.

The cell they were taken to was under the Council chambers, and in his initial explorations of the Organian settlement he had come across the oval, barred windows on the streets surrounding the main building. Now that they were inside the cell, those same bars were 16 feet above his head, and really more like ventilation than windows.

Nekae was sitting in one corner of their confined space. She had cast off the Vulcan robe and was now stretching her legs, bare to the upper thigh where her shorts began. She had not spoken since he bore her from the Inn, and he wondered whether her silence were a result of his decision in that regard. While Sarek and Amanda were a team, there were instances where the danger to her person---or of them getting separated---was high enough that Sarek would simply bear her away. Spock had calculated that this would be the correct action in their situation, as the Klingons could have easily separated them and taken her to the mindsifter, but perhaps she did not agree.

The iron grate opened with a loud squeal. The door to their cell just stood open then, as if waiting for them to walk through it. Nekae got up and strode towards the door, as if it were completely safe for her to walk out. But, with her face buried in his chest on the way in, perhaps she had not seen the rows of Klingon soldiers lining the path towards their cell.

Spock reached out to stop her, putting a hand on her arm, now covered by the sleeve of her jacket. She looked at him in what was clearly exasperation, but said nothing.

“There are soldiers outside. It is unlikely to assume they were just open the doors and let us leave. It is much more likely that the moment one of us walks out, they will be waiting there to condemn us for attempting to escape.”

“That's on their list of crimes,” Kirk added, and Spock was momentarily appreciative of her actions, as they distracted the human from his building emotionalism. The Nomad seemed surprised by their words. Her shoulders raised and she licked her lips, both signs Spock now recognized as coming before she said something at least _interesting_ , if not _fascinating_.

“Tell me this, if you two had to prioritize, what would be most important: That the Organians were safe, or that the Klingons not get to use this as a base?”

“You still don't get it. There is _no way_ for the Organians to be safe while the Klingons are here!” Kirk walked in her direction, more intent and determined than Spock would like, “At this point I thought at least you---”

“---Captain, perhaps this is unproductive.”

“Do I even want to ask what are percentages are at this point?”

“Probably not, Captain.” Nekae was shaking her head, waves of short curls flying all around her face.

“No, you two still don't get it. And I'm just visiting their world, so it isn't my place to explain it to you. Just know this: Sometime soon, you will need to choose. Know what your choice is going to be now, and why.” She then turned and climbed the three stone steps at the door to their cell, walking out and then out of sight.

Spock stilled the urge to go after her. Kirk was right, it was likely a trap, but the last few hours of behaving like his father and making comparison-after-comparison to his parents made a part of him unsettled at the prospect of watching her walk into highly probable danger.

But after a few minutes, when they did not hear any sounds of struggle or even conversation, which the echoing stonework certainly would have carried their way, Kirk shot him a look and they both bolted for the door.

Two turns away from their cell led them straight to Ayelborne, an odd sight in this place though these cells were obviously Organian in design, and only being co-opted by the Klingons for this purpose.

“Come Captain, Mr. Spock,” the Organian beckoned.

“But wait, where are the Klingon guards?” Kirk looked around as he spoke, perhaps expecting them at any moment as Spock did.

“They are gone,” Ayleborne said simply, leading them upstairs. Soon they were in the Council chambers again, and the elders were seated as before, as if mass executions were not happening below them in the square.

“She is not with you.” Trefayne spoke first.

“You caused the explosion.” another Organian said, shooting Trefayne a look Spock did not quite understand.

“Of course we did. To show you that you don't have to be sheep, you can be wolves!” His Captain was losing control now, but Spock could hardly blame him. Even without the mindsifter, just being surrounded by Klingons had caused his own controls to be frayed. The elders stood and moved together, forming a smaller group around Trefayne, who stayed seated.

“So terrible, to cause such destruction,” another elder said. _Curious_ , Spock thought, _this is what draws emotion out of them. Not occupation, not the mass executions of their people, but Kirk's actions against the Klingons_.

“History is filled with examples of civil populations rising up and fighting back successfully against a military dictatorship. We may not be able to destroy the Klingons, but we can tie them up. We can blow up their installations, disrupt their communications, make Organia useless to them.” While Captain Kirk was normally a restrained, even suave diplomat when the mission required it, he was more aggressive than would work with them. Spock stepped in, thinking to remind them of the danger.

“Our fleet will eventually arrive. In the meantime the battle is ours. It can be a successful one.” Spock spoke directly to Ayleborne. Then, remembering what Nekae had said, added, “We can take actions that will eventually lead to safety for Organians. If the Klingons find holding this planet too difficult, their history strongly suggests that they will abandon it, and leave your world.”

“Our fate concerns you.” Trefayne spoke up again, in the same tone of voice he had used in the Inn, when he was trying to guess Nekae’s motivations. Behind him, another Organian made a sound, one of disbelief.

“Do you really think we are going to believe that you care more about us than about stopping the Klingons from entering your space?” The question was laden with emotion, which was an extreme contrast from their earlier actions.

“We need to move,” Spock interjected, head tilted towards the door. When the Captain moved toward it Spock shook his head, motioning for the window. As they climbed out and began to scale down the wall the door flew open and soldiers flooded into the Council Chambers.

They made their way down and over, meeting behind a covered eave on a part of the building roof 22 feet from the ground. They took shelter behind the bricked structure, watching the Klingons on the ground. Spock could still hear the conversation going on inside.

… _once he’s had firsthand experience with our mindsifter._

_There’s no need for that, Commander. I can tell you his name. It’s Captain James T. Kirk._

_A Starship Commander!_

“It was a pleasure to serve with you, Jim.” The Captain’s head snapped around and he let off a series of rather creative expletives in Orion.

“We are not giving up yet. We will raise our percentages if we have to do it one Klingon at a time, with our bare hands. Am I clear?” Blue eyes pinned his own, holding his body still as his human friend worked diligently to persuade him.”

“Of course, Captain.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/ for scene clips episode information, and fic recs.


	13. Chapter 13: The Errand of Mercy Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock race against time and incredible odds to escape Organia with their lives while the Nomad Nekae wreaks havoc and reveals the true nature of the Organians. Will an inconceivable peace be struck between the Klingons and the Federation, or will violence engulf the AOS universe?
> 
> This is the last chapter of the Errand of Mercy Redux.

Nekae stood on the spire of what the Klingon soldiers has dubbed _The Citadel_ , and below her Klingons were just passing by as if she weren’t there. At this point, she was sure she was invisible.

When she’d first climbed out of the maze of cells in the basement of the Council Chambers and was standing in the sunlight and on the streets, she was sure her clothes would be enough to get the soldiers' attention. And then she wondered if anyone could see her. From there it only went downhill.

She swiped their phasers and tied the strings on their pants legs together. Pushing one into another as she walked by, she started a fight. Thinking that she’d need to go bigger to get that attention, she blew up the rest of the Klingon Occupation Force’s weapons. What that didn’t work, she climbed up here to see if even a single person could see her.

She was frustrated. The Organians took away her only power. They rendered her invisible, so while she could sabotage, start fights, and be a fair nuisance, she couldn’t do the one thing that could turn the tables on this conflict.

She couldn’t get any of the Klingons to kill her.

Her vitals were tied into her screen, and her screen logged on to her page, and so if she was killed every other Nomad would know. She had planned to post a message too, something like _These Klingons are Clogged! I hope the Organians give them hell!_ before she left, just to make sure her people knew what to do. 

She knew it wasn't going to work, of course. She had to at least fulfill her destiny before she died, so there was some assurance that's she would live until that was done. But she was mad. No, enraged. These high and mighty, holier-than-thou Organians were just gearing up to teach a lesson.

And the price of their lesson had been the desert Aristocrat's mind.

He very easily could have been killed. So she channeled her rage, used to to promise herself  _she_ would teach  _them_ a lesson. She knew Trefayne would hear her, as he heard everyone and saw everything. 

And the Organians stopped her, rendered her invisible, so the Klingons couldn't see her to want to kill her. Of course, they did it because they knew Nomads. As she'd told the desert Aristocrat and his human friend, their two peoples had a relationship. An understanding.

The Organians knew that  _those who kill Nomads are killed by Nomads_ . 

Nekae started to get bored, done with the pyrotechnics and the pranks. She had come here to relax, and she'd done nothing of the sort so far. Her ankle boots clacked against the cobblestones as she made her way to the Council chambers again.

They must have known she was coming. They were all seated in their spots, with Ayleborne in the center.

“Nomad. You have come to address us, I assume.” Ayleborne speaking to her was an annoyance, and she felt her blood rise as if he were challenging her in some way.

“No one can see me,” she said flatly, standing with her hands on her hips. If Trefayne wasn't going to speak to her then she wasn't going to speak to him.

“Your intention was violence,” Ayleborne continued, “and that is something we cannot permit.” This set off a flurry of smaller comments from the other Organians that set her teeth on edge. Her body bent backwards and she stretched her neck back, tossing her hair and rolling her eyes.

“Don't tell me about what you  _cannot permit_ . I know all about the power a small, young life can have over a large, ancient one.” The Nomad practically growled this, her body pitching back forward into what was very nearly a predatory stance.

“Don't threaten us, Child,” another Elder said, an old man with a crown of gray hair surrounding his bald cap, “We have shown you hospitality.” Claymare, her mind supplied. She huffed at his words.

“No, _he's_ shown me hospitality,” she said, pointing at Trefayne, but not looking at him, “and most of the time you try to talk him out of it. And I'll say what I want, since I know you won't do violence to stop me. Of course, you could just throw me to the Klingons, since you have no problem watching young ones do violence to one another.”

“What is your meaning?” Ayleborne's voice got deeper, and echoed in the Council chambers in a way that was unnatural. She felt hands on her shoulders and looked to see Trefayne, up and standing behind her.

“My  _meaning_ is that violence has already occurred, due in large part to conditions  _created by Organians_ .” The light in the room changed, the pale yellow lights fading and a orange, fiery brightness growing in the room. She felt warmed along with it, and hands still rested on her shoulders. 

“That is a serious accusation, Child,” Ayleborne said, though it was hard for her to see his body anymore. He was changing shape and the light that came from him as he lost solidity made her blink.

“You watched Mr. Spock and I be led away. What do you think happened to us?”

“The Klingons used a machine. They did not harm him.”

“Wrong. The mindsifter literally sifted through his mind. It violated him, violently, and you allowed it. If I hadn't been here he might not have walked out of that room.”

“This is what concerned you earlier.” Trefayne's voice was barely a whisper in her ear, breath light on her neck as he spoke quietly from behind her. He was about her height and cool at her back, and she found herself missing her tall, broad shouldered, warm shadow. She nodded, her attention on the Organians as they took in this new information. Finally one of them spoke, the older man with the gray crown.

“We cannot be held responsible for understanding primitive technologies. We are--”

“---then what about the cells? I was imprisoned, which would have been impossible had you not included a dungeon in your town. What other purpose could that room possibly serve?” She jerked back as the Organians in front of her abruptly returned to their bodies. They were all up now, out of their chairs and pacing.

“They hate each other. Even now their armies move against one another. Surely this would have happened without our intervention.”

“The Vulcans consider mind violation the most damaging and abhorrent type of violence.”

“Terrible. Inconceivable. Savage.”

“Mr. Spock himself considered violence against the Klingons in Trefayne's rooming house.”

“The Vulcan limped through town, requiring support even to walk.”

The had forgotten about her, furiously processing this with one another, talking in fast, disjointed sentences, clearly unused to having to use verbal sounds to communicate with one another. Trefayne stayed at her back, his hands drifting down from her shoulders to her upper arms, relaxing but not yet moving away.

The lights went up, pale yellow replacing firelight. The Organians were all seated again, Trefayne included. Ayleborne nodded to her.

“You have given us much to consider. Bring the Starfleet and Klingon Commanders to us at once.”

Normally she would have pushed to make sure they had also made her visible again, but withdraw seemed like a smarter option. She fled the hall with as much dignity as she could muster, seeking out the Aristocrat and the Captain.

* * *

 

He was crouched under the cover of an overgrowth of shrubbery with the Captain at his side. In the courtyard below there were two armed Klingon guards. In the last 78 minutes, the number of armed Klingons on patrol had tripled, and he was sure this was because their identities had been discovered.

“What are our odds now?”

“Difficult to be precise, Captain. We obviously do not understand the true nature of the Organians, and Nekae is still missing. I should say approximately 7,824.7 to 1.” At first Kirk seemed confused, and then he nodded, most likely to himself.

“She's been busy,” he added offhandedly. And indeed she had been. They had both heard and seen several additional weapons explosions which could not have come from the Klingons themselves and almost certainly were not the Organians.

“What is she doing?” Kirk's alarm made him raise his head and there Nekae was, kneeling in between the two guards. He stilled the powerful urge to rush forward and incapacitate them before they could harm her, watching as she tied their bootlaces together. They seemed oblivious to her presence, as if they could not see or hear her, and she winked at him when she caught him looking. When she was done, she rose and skipped over. The Klingons did not notice, or follow.

“Greetings Bondmate, Captain,” she said, squeezing under their bush.

“How in the hell did you---”

“Not important. Have you been thinking about what I asked you before? In the cell?” The bush did not afford them much room to spread out, but Organia was cool, similar in temperature to the Enterprise, and Spock found that he welcomed the additional warmth. Up ahead of them, the guards noticed that their boots were laced together, looked around, and then each accused the other.

“I have,” Kirk began, keeping his voice low even as it was clear the guards were occupied. “And truthfully, I have no great love for them, for this planet, for their culture. That said, I can't see how they will survive a prolonged Klingon occupation acting the way they do.” The guards had begun to fight, and Kirk was momentarily distracted watching them alternatively fight and pull away while their feet were still tied together. “Starfleet won't like it, but I can defend it. If I had to choose between making sure the Klingons couldn't use this as a base and protecting the Organians, I'd chose to protect them. Odd and frustrating as they are, they don't deserve to be killed off in droves.”

The Nomad seemed satisfied, even impressed, by this answer. At this point one of the guards had incapacitated the other, and was now awkwardly carrying him off the path and into a building.

“What are our odds now, Mr. Spock?”

“Less than 7,000 to 1. It is remarkable that we've gotten this far.” Kirk smiled then, blue eyes open wide and his mouth stretched into a grin. He reached down and worked off his belt.

“I think I remember Kor's office being in that direction.” The Captain left the bushes and kept to the wall, soon disappearing between two structures. Spock looked at Nekae, nodded, and then followed to cover him. He could hear Nekae do the same, and when they found the Captain, he had a belt around a Klingon's neck.

“..Is Kor's office down there?”

“Yessss...”

“What about the hostages?” The soldier resisted and Kirk pressed on, “Talk, damnit!”  
“I am to gather 200 more.”

“To be killed?” He nodded, and as he was nodding Kirk abruptly slammed his head against the stone walls. Unconscious, he loosened the belt and let the Klingon's body rest on the cobblestones.

“This way.” The Captain rushed right into the Klingon Commander's office. Kor was sitting behind a desk, feet propped up. He acted as though they were expected.

“You have done well to get this far through my guards. Though I would expect nothing less of a Starship Commander.” He looked over at Spock. “And his First Officer?” Spock nodded, a small jerk of his head as he moved forward and took Kor's personal weapons.

“I believe you will find that several of them are no longer in perfect operating condition,” Spock said, watching the Commander surreptitiously as he moved back from him, a Klingon energy weapon and a boot dagger in his hands. Kor smirked, enjoying the repartee.

“So you are here. You will be interested to know that a Federation fleet is on its way here now. Obviously, our own fleet is prepared to meet them.”

“Checkmate, Commander.” Kirk's tone held venom, as if all this time up close and personal with the Klingons had increased his aversion to them.

“Shall we wait and see the results before you kill me?” The Commander was buying for time, and Spock admitted that he did not know how his Captain had intended for this to end.

He also noted that Kor had failed to even glance over at Nekae. Perhaps the Klingons could not see or hear her, though he and his Captain could. He wondered at the technology that allowed for this personal invisibility. Sarek would need to know that the Nomads had such capabilities.

“I don't intend to kill you unless I have to.” Kirk's words shook Spock. He had been so quick to adopt violent methods, and his human Captain, even enraged as he was, still had the capacity for mercy. This was the second time Kirk had offered mercy when Spock had already made up his mind that _the cause was sufficient._ He needed to meditate on all that had transpired here, and now that their survival percentage had risen to 21.752% he thought he might just get the chance.

“ Sentimentality, mercy. The emotions of peace. Your weakness, Captain Kirk.” Kor smiled, stretching his propped legs and then lowering them. He rose and moved to a carafe of what looked like a liquid intoxicant. “The Klingon Empire shall win. Think of it, as we sit here, in space above us the destiny of the galaxy will be decided for the next ten thousand years. Can I offer you a drink? We can toast the victory of the Klingon fleet.”

“You are being premature. There are many possibilities. Already the odds of our own survival have moved greatly in our favor,” Spock responded, his arms clasping at his back unconsciously.

“Today we conquer. If some day we are defeated, well, war has its fortunes, good and bad.” Something was wrong with this scene. Spock was reminded of old earth motion pictures, where the hero would talk the villain into a long conversation, only to then overcome him and use the knowledge he had gained to thwart their less-than-estimable plans. “Do you know why we are so strong? Because we are a unit. Each of us is part of the greater whole, always under surveillance. Even a Commander like myself, always under surveillance, Captain. If you will note.” Outside, Spock hears a commotion as bodies rush the door.

“Captain! Down!” Spock raises his voice, arm whipping out to grab Nekae and drag her behind him.

“Shoot!” Kor snarls, and the Klingons try, but all of the sudden they are dropping their weapons, clutching their hands in pain. Kirk rushes a soldier, only to jump back, grabbing his own hands.

“Captain?”

“Their bodies are hot! Probably the weapons too.” He turns on Kor. “What is the meaning of this? I thought you  _ wanted _ a fight!”

“I do, Kirk!” Kor seethed with rage, “Believe me I do!”And then a Klingon snarled at his side. He turned and saw that the soldier was snarling at Nekae, who he could finally see. Spock lunged, connecting with his neck long enough to administer the Vulcan Nerve Pinch despite the pain. Then he stood still, breathing heavy, and looked down at what he expected were boil-covered hands. But they were smooth. Trefayne was next to him then, a hand on the arm of his shirt, and the pain was completely gone.

“ We are terribly sorry to be forced to interfere, gentlemen, but we cannot permit you to harm yourselves,” Ayleborne explained, his hand widening as if to say  _ for example, this _ . 

“What are you talking about?!” Kor snapped, obviously done with their roundabout explanations and peacefully passive attitudes.

“We have put a stop to your violence,” Claymare continued, frustration evident. Perhaps he expected them to already possess some additional understanding of the situation.

“You?” Kirk said, incredulously, “ _ You're  _ stopping  _ us _ ?” Spock had moved to the Nomad's side, checking for injuries. A motion got his attention and he turned in time to see Trefayne watching him carefully. And then he heard several small claps.

“Gentlemen of Organia,” Nekae stepped forward, now in the center of the room, and Trefayne was up front with the rest.  _ He teleports _ , Spock realized  _ and he has not hidden it, so why did I not come to this understanding earlier? _

“I present to you the compromise brokered between the Klingons and the Federation by the Representative of the Oasis.” She bowed, and all the Organians looked more relaxed. As if this were a normal way of being addressed. The Klingons were confused, and admitted to a bit of frustration.  _ How many names did one race need? _

“Compromise? When did you 'broker' a compromise?” Kor snarled, and Spock stepped between them.

“They don't seem to be as convinced as you are...” Ayleborne said, his voice holding a bit of humor.

“Observe,” she said curtly, turning to Kor., who she had to look past Spock to see, “Do you promise to hold this planet by whatever means necessary, to fight off every Starfleet challenge, and to kill however many Organians it takes to have order?”

“YES!” Kor shouted, seething as she fed his anger. She turned on a dime to Kirk.

“And do you promise to withdraw all Starfleet and Federation presence from Organia, return to the negotiating table, and recommit yourselves to peaceful conflict resolution, no matter how the situation unfolds on this planet?” Kirk's blue eyes narrowed slightly as he put the pieces together, her other hypothetical questions and now this one.

“Yes,” Kirk nodded.

“What?!?” Kor was shocked.

“Listen, the Organians want to negotiate with you themselves, without our protection. And even though they're weak, and plenty more of them are going to die before this is over, the Federation believes this planet and this system is theirs, to do with as they please. And, fewer will die without us than while with us still here.”

“And now you,” Nekae said, rotating back around to the Organians. They all looked taken offguard, but Ayleborne quickly recovered.

“What may we offer to seal this most excellent peace?” he asked, the humor still present.

“Pledge that you will use all of the resources you possess to keep the Klingons from using Organia to better fight the Federation.” The Elders seemed surprised by this request, but amenable. Kor laughed.

“And what resources do they have at their beck and call?” he spat, laughing between his words.

“All instruments of violence on this planet, including hands and other parts of bodies, now radiate a temperature of three hundred and fifty degrees. They are inoperative. The same conditions exist on both the star-fleets. There will be no battle.”

Kirk reached instinctively to his hip for his communicator, and Spock realized before he did that the device was actually on his belt. Looking down, his communicator, tricorder, and phaser all hung on his belt.

“Kirk to Enterprise. Enterprise, do you read?”

“Enterprise here, Captain,” he heard Lt. Uhura's voice, small in the comm's speaker.

“What's happening?”

“Sulu here. I can't explain it. We were just closing in on the Klingon fleet when every control on our ship became too hot to handle.”

“Not every control,” Lt. Uhura added. “The Communications console was unaffected, and life support, medical, and engineering all report no outages.”  _ Just the weapons. _

“Patch me through to Dr. Marcus,” Kirk said, and he heard the telltale click that told him he was on hold.

“Marcus here, Captain.” Spock noticed how unsure she sounded. She could not afford fear in moments like these. He made a mental note to schedule a conference with her.

“Report on the phaser banks.”

“Our power's gone. Our phaser banks are inoperative. Totally drained. It would take 47.1 minutes to recharge them to full.”

“Stand by, Doctor,” Kirk said, flipping the communicator shut. He turned to the Organians. “What have you done?”

“We are incorporeal beings, millennia more evolved than any of you,” Claymare explained. “and we long ago stopped needing physical bodies.”

This was the lack of understanding Nekae mentioned again and again. “And this town is not for your use,” Spock hypothesized.

“Exactly,” Claymare nodded at him, “they are physical affectations for visitors such as yourselves, primarily to avoid conversations like this one.”

“Right now,” Ayleborne broke in, “As I stand here, I also stand upon the home planet of the Klingon Empire, and the home planet of your Federation, Captain. I'm putting a stop to this insane war.” Kirk seemed to have gotten control over himself, and held in the outburst that made him bounce on his heels. Kor spewed a stream of Klingon obscenities.

“And,” Trefayne stepped forward, “no one will ever be harmed by a mindsifter again. You may make as many as you like, Commander, but they will not work to harm others.” He directed his last words at Spock, who was shocked at this tacit admission of guilt.

“Now go, please,” Ayleborne said. As he spoke, his voice changed into something that could have come out of ship's speakers. A light engulfed each of their bodies and Spock had to turn away. He heard Kirk ordering their beam out as a blinding light made him recall his time with the mindsifter.

It was too late that he realized he did not have a hand on the Nomad. They had left her behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A link to the TOS episode Errand of Mercy, scene clips, and fic recs available at http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stories tie in a neat little bow at the end of Tale of the Last Clans. 
> 
> Next Up: Rising to the Occasion

Kirk and McCoy watched nervously on the monitors as Spock and the Vulcan Healer stood, the Healer's fingers on Spock's face in a stance that couldn't be described as anything other than _alien_. McCoy had cued a timer running on the bottom of the Security feed, and only seven minutes and some change had elapsed, but it felt like they'd been standing there in that position and almost stock still for hours. 

The Doctor didn't trust this  _at all_ . He knew Spock would assume that his discomfort with it was a sign of unconscious xenophobia, but he had reasons for his anxiety. After his abrupt exile on Delta Vega, he'd noticed the changes in Kirk. The moments where Jim just seemed to be focused on  _something else_ , the lack of attention, and then there were the benefits. Increased professionalism, a change in his body language that made him read like an experienced Captain when he was anything but---not that he was giving Vulcan mental mumbo jumbo all the credit. Jim had a commanding presence long before getting Captaincy of the Enterprise. His ability to talk a group of cadets into a particular strategy, to inspire his fellows to do significantly difficult tasks was legendary all on its own. But this was more, like his friend had changed the standard to which he held himself. 

And then all of those context clues, added to the report Jim gave of his time on Delta Vega and his interaction with the “other” Spock, combined with the Doctor's first experience with a Vulcan Healer.

_Lt. Uhura had been ushered in to a more private Sickbay cubicle and was sitting on the biobed when the Doctor found her. She'd claimed to be in for a “headache”, but her chart made it look like what was going on between her ears was more like the Storm of the Century. She had not slept, which was documented on arrival, because she had laid in her own bed for enough hours during each of her off periods to make it look like her sleep schedule had not been interrupted. She'd barely eaten, though that wasn't abnormal for her either. She was thin as a rake, and he knew from her personal care logs that times when she didn't get enough time for physical activity correlated strongly with her replicating less to eat. Her eyes were swollen and red, which she must have hid with makeup while on the Bridge. Now that she was in the sterile lighting of his department, and her uniform had been swamped with a paper gown, she looked completely run down._

_At her side was their First Officer, looking severe and saying nothing. The scuttlebutt from the nurses and doctors on shift was that he had brought her in and insisted she be seen to at once. The reactions to that ranged from swooning over how romantic it was---with a side of jealousy---to critiquing how controlling he looked, as if he had caused the damage to her himself._

_Now that they were alone, just the three of them, he hoped they'd be a little forthcoming. McCoy moved around the small space, hitting the wall controls that turned glass walls into something more opaque, giving them a frosted look. He soundproofed the room, looking at Spock as he did so to make sure the other officer understood the measures he was taking to assure their privacy. Spock shot a glance at Nyota which McCoy followed, only to see that she was shivering. He punched up the heat in the small room and very quickly the difference was noticeable. Then he grabbed a stool, moved over to where she was sitting, and sat down too, putting himself eye-to-eye with her. She looked miserable, and though McCoy certainly had a reputation, that didn't mean he also couldn't have a soothing bedside manner when it was necessary._

_“Now what seems to be the problem, Lieutenant?” He began, his voice low and without edge._

_“I am responsible for this,” Spock stepped in, and Uhura's head snapped in his direction fast and hard enough that McCoy understood why Spock literally stepped back in reaction to it. He opened a tricorder and started scanning, cuing up the biobed's readings as well, and deflected._

_“What does he think he's responsible for?” he asked Uhura, giving her back the conversational lead. She shook her head, an action she obviously regretted, and took a deep breath._

_“Something's going on with our...” she trailed off, not wanting to say it, her head tilting back just slightly as if acknowledging that The Commander was still in the room._

_“...our proto-bond. The telepathic connection we have in preparation for the more formal bond Vulcan spouses share.” Spock supplied the information and McCoy understood at once what was going on---she couldn't explain what was wrong with her without sharing information about him that was personal and even in this state she refused to do so. The doctor nodded._

_“Do either of you have any idea what's going on with it?' McCoy asked, now addressing questions to both of them in an effort to get information faster. His readings made it clear that the Lieutenant was in significant pain, much more than her body language let on._

_“We need a Vulcan Healer.” Uhura said, her words rushing out. Spock looked over at her, and McCoy wondered again how people could think Spock had no emotions when watching the two of them together, and then the First Officer nodded slowly._

_“I agree. The connection has been damaged, and only a Healer will be able to assess to what degree. And all treatment will require a Healer as well.” The doctor bristled at this._

_“Okay now, before we jump to the conclusion that there is actually nothing I can do...” he trailed off as he watched Uhura jump at the sound of his voice and Spock move in to protect her._

_Taking a mental step back, he reviewed the readings. He could treat her symptoms, but not their cause. And what these two thought was still just a hypothesis. And in any other instance, he would defend to the ends of the Universe a client's right to dictate the details of their own care._

_“Alright. Lieutenant, I'm going to give you some medication for your symptoms and put you on medical leave. I'll arrange for a conference call with a Vulcan Healer. If you two have a preference---” they both perked up, “---and obviously you do, then that's who I'll call. I'll give you some time to talk to them on your own, and then I'll talk to them and make whatever arrangements need to be made.” He watched as both of them relaxed fractionally, and moved to administer the hypos._

Having the Healer on board was a bad experience all around. As much as Mr. Spock made clear his distrust of the medical profession, it was obvious that the backstory to that began on Vulcan at the Temple of ShiKar. Spock was nothing less than cold to the Healer they sent, and seemed genuinely dismayed when it was made clear to him that the Healer he preferred could not make it in time. A Healer had been given to them on loan from Intrepid, and she was the same Healer who now stood in silence, locked in some sort of trance with their First Officer.

All at once the spell over the two Vulcans seemed to end, and Spock pulled abruptly back and away from the Healer's long fingers. She nodded to him and he turned abruptly to leave the room. Kirk was already out the door and in seconds all three stood awkwardly outside the small conference room Spock had been in moments before.

“Let's get you to a chair,” McCoy said, moving forward and guiding Spock without touching him to another private room, one he used as a consult room for patients and medical staff. He whipped out his tricorder then, and after a nod from the Commander that it was fine to continue, he started scanning the Vulcan First Officer.

“All-in-all, you seem fine. You're dopamides are a lot lower than I'd like them to be, but not dangerously so. Your oxytocides are a little high,” McCoy paused at that, looking up to see if he was going to get any information about it, and then after a short pause continued, “but that isn't cause for alarm either.” All the while, Kirk was pacing around both of them like that loud bug that flew in when the kitchen door was open and now constantly reminds everyone it is still inside.

“Will you quit your mother henning and sit still, Jim? Now, or so help me I'll use one of these backup hypos on you...” the Doctor warned, fanning four out in front of him as a warning. The Captain took a seat next to his First Officer.

“You're fine, then?” Kirk asked, and McCoy watched how the two men interacted. Spock, with a slight nod that both men might miss, which then in turn triggered Kirk's shoulders to drop in relief. All small gestures, and while Jim still occasionally hit Spock on the arm or patted him on the back, McCoy noticed that he restricted himself to moments when he knew the Vulcan was well. And as Spock certainly wasn't at his best, even if he was _fine_ , Jim didn't touch him. The Doctor nodded, liking what he was seeing, and stayed kneeling on the floor at Spock's knees, now with Kirk on his other side.

“Um, what about the...?” Kirk said in a low voice to McCoy, motioned at the Healer who had just walked out of the room she and Mr. Spock had occupied. In moments she was beset upon by a nurse in blue with a white stethoscope around his neck, and briefly the doctor was reminded of a shark cutting through the water over a drop of blood.

“They can handle it,” McCoy said with a grin. “I put my top nurse on it. He's been assigned to our resident Healer for months now.” Spock seemed surprised, and looked back-and-forth at each of the human men at his side.

“You did this for me?” Spock asked, surprise plain, and McCoy nodded. Vulcans might not make friends based on proximity, but they still made friends, and the Doctor had done his share of homework. Kirk elbowed him then, and Spock felt good enough to return the gesture with a raised eyebrow.

“You don't like that one. What, you think we didn't notice?' McCoy returned, a Southern smile on his much more expressive face.

“I neither like nor dislike Healer T'Lok,” Spock began evenly, giving all the indications of a full on Vulcan 101. Kirk rushed in to cut him off.

“And you don't have to, because we're friends. Friends despise the people you can't, because you are busy turning the other cheek and being the better person.” Kirk's voice was low during this explanation, and Spock tilted his head ever so slightly in the Captain's direction. This time both of Spock's eyebrows hit his hairline.

“I had no idea friendship had this as a consequence,” the Vulcan mused. McCoy was surprised he didn't pretend not to know what those human English colloquialisms meant or continue to deny any negativity towards the Healer. They were making progress. Then another look crossed his face, and he looked up a little tentatively.

“Neither of you have asked me about the mindsifter. Surely you are here for a briefing.” His voice had lost the edge of camaraderie and Kirk's face made it clear he noticed.

“No, no briefing. I mean, if you want to talk about it or,” his head turned to McCoy and the Doctor nodded at him to continue, “if you need to talk about it you can. But we have a joint briefing with the Acting Federation Ambassador in negotiation with the Klingons and the Admiral in charge of the action in this sector at 0800 and I was going to remind you that you were off duty until then.” Spock nodded along, looking a little more controlled at his words. _He thought he was going to get interrogated again, this time by us,_ McCoy realized.

“Though,” Kirk continued, “it might be easier if we talked about it. Then I could share your details in our larger report, and you could sit back and correct any omissions.” From the look on Spock's face, the Vulcan had clearly not considered the possibility that talking about it might benefit him---though the Doctor wasn't surprised by that one bit.

Rising off his knees---and not so young he didn't feel all that time down on them---he motioned to Spock to rise. He'd gotten good at stopping before touching, which he knew the Vulcan was uncomfortable with. “Come on, let's find a chess board for you two,” McCoy drawled, and the three walked of Sickbay and down the corridor to the turbolift.

* * *

 

Kirk and McCoy sat on either side of Spock in the secure Conference room designed for conversations just like this one. You couldn't conference a Federation Ambassador and a Starfleet Admiral into a call about a classified Starfleet mission just anywhere. At the comms station, Lt. Palmers managed the incoming signals and the additional data screens. The three Enterprise officers sat on the side of the table closest to the door, and the way McCoy was pulling at his dress uniform collar he could have easily been contemplating their escape.

Across from them on the wall two square screens were filled with Ambassador Sarek on the left and Admiral Komack on the right. Kirk knew they weren't the only people listening in---Palmers had active comm signals from Admiral Stoddard and Starfleet Intelligence as well.

_Bones is a genius_ Kirk thought, and not for the first time. Not even for the first time in the last few hours. The three had just stayed up for the six hours between Spock's sickbay visit and the briefing, sitting in McCoy's quarters while he watched them play chess on his Great Uncle's antique board. Which Spock of course wanted to see the moment the good Doctor mentioned it, getting them all to his quarters, where he then raised the temperature and pressure (and lowered the humidity) gradually, leaving Spock no reason to tell them all he did not need the accommodations. And they'd talked through what happened on Organia with Spock and the mindsifter. 

And they'd talked though it. And reviewed it. And eventually decided how to present it.

_McCoy's a genius._ Kirk knew Spock better now that he had a year ago, and their relationship was light years better than it had been when they'd both shipped out with the Enterprise, but he didn't hold a candle against McCoy. The Doctor knew Spock, in a way only a medical professional with access to all the literature in the Federation on Vulcan-Human dynamics could. 

Somehow McCoy knew Spock had suffered, even when Kirk had been satisfied that he was fine.  _I need McCoy on away missions too. Spock is going to hate three Command officers going down, but I need the Doctor's eyes._ Back on the ship, in crew quarters, across from a friend over a game of chess that fact had been patently obvious, something that Jim was shocked he hadn't seen. 

The story his Vulcan First Officer told made it clear he was conflicted. He'd been forced by the mindsifter to suffer an extreme breaking of what he described as  _mental shields_ , and after had been healed by a telepath he'd never met, working through the Nomad he never liked, and he'd been forced to relive the worst moment of his life. 

The three of them had gone back and forth about that, circling the table again and again with theories. By then the room was hot enough that Kirk and McCoy had stripped off their uniform shirts and swapped them for black tees, both just laying around on the Doctor's kitchenette counter. And Bones was topping off glasses with ice cold, real life lemonade---made with lemons from Hydroponics---as if it were aged Scotch.

_“Would you have been able to tell if the entire memory were faked? I know these Healers of yours can do some amazing things with their telepathy. Maybe that, combined with the stress from the mindsifter...” but Spock was already shaking his head._

_“No Healer can completely manufacture memories Doctor, regardless of the state of the target's mind. Memories depend on one's unique perspective, and that's not something translated with enough accuracy in reports or logs to be fabricated. Even if the Nomads had somehow gotten access to my report, they would have had to be there to understand the detail, and even then it would have been a feat to fabricate my perspective.”_

_“Okay, what about this,” Kirk began, sitting back and talking with his arms, “what if he just tapped into your worst memory and somehow finished it?” Spock was nodding, as if this were more likely._

_“What kind of technology finishes memories? And where can I buy it, because I need a little more wish fulfillment in my life!”_

_“Bones, we've seen all manner of strange tech. Aliens we've never met have come leaps and bounds ahead of us technologically and many can do things that seem impossible. Just look at the Organians.”_

_“While also correct, I should point out that this explanation could also be used to prove the memory was genuine, and the precursor to an unorthodox rescue mission.” At that both Jim and McCoy looked up at Spock sharply, but the Vulcan seemed nothing but calm._

_“'An unorthodox rescue mission? You're talking about saving your mother!”_

_“All the reason to look at this situation objectively---” Kirk broke in after McCoy, before Spock could react, though it didn't look like he needed to, “---and consider the possibility that it was faked. Spock is a highly ranked Starfleet officer, and at the hands of a strong telepath could be a formidable weapon against the Federation.”_

_“I quite agree. Even as a spy, I hold a high intelligence rating and know the details of key planetary defense systems. And, because humans often forget my hearing, all manner of personal information, much of which would be embarrassing and professionally damaging if revealed.” The Doctor snorted at that._

_“Oh, I know. If Starfleet Medical regulations let me, I could write one hell of a book!”_

_“Doctor! The revealing of knowledge gained from---” Kirk cut him off again, before he could disrupt their host's mellow mood._

_“So we've got two possibilities: Either what you saw was real, or it was fake. And if it was fake...” Kirk trailed off as Spock raised his hand. The Vulcan rarely interrupted the flow of speech verbally, which made Jim imagine that his mom must have been something like Mary Poppins, always encouraging gentlemanly behavior. When another man might interrupt, Spock would raise his hand, a polite signal that he wanted to speak. Jim nodded._

_“In point of fact, I believe there are three possible scenarios: Either what I saw was real, or it was fake and accidental---perhaps the combination of an unconscious mental healing, the presence of two new minds, and the damage from the mindsifter---, or it was fake and purposeful. There are compelling motivations possible around faking it for gain.”_

_“But short of having you and Scotty using your memories to build us a mindsifter and pulling in a woman connected to a Healer, we can't test that theory.” McCoy's voice had the frustration Kirk now shared._

_“So we can't discount it. What about a purposeful ploy. Can we prove that?” Spock nodded, moving a piece and reminding Jim they were playing, his own pieces in front of him forgotten._

_“We can establish a timeline with Ambassador Sarek to see whether it was possibly for Nekae to know that negotiations were breaking down when she left Nomad territory and headed for Organia. We can have Intelligence look through data logs to see if there were any breaches in the Communications about the negotiations and we can review the family history on Nekae available on the Nomad's social media interface to estimate the likelihood that she is a Romulan spy...” Spock was obviously more comfortable working this situation like a problem that could lead to a solution, his shoulders relaxed and posture curved. This time the Doctor didn't comment on it. Instead, he made an observation that reminded Jim just how much time he spent on the Bridge._

_“Would she even need to be Romulan? Seems to me like her people don't like yours. Maybe she's working a Vulcan-Nomad angle?”_

_“That is a possibility,” Spock conceded._

_“Okay, and what about the last alternative. What if it was real?” Kirk regretted bringing it up, except that they had to discuss it. Spock straightened, his posture sharp as he turned his head down towards the game to make another move. Jim held up a hand to stop Bones from rushing in and filling the uncomfortable silence. Spock looked up._

_“To prove that, we would need to establish that the planet in question really had waves of time displacement that caused visions of the future. But even that would not preclude the possibility that she was using this Nomad tradition for personal or collective gain. We would need to prove that she really had this vision of a woman she did not know who just happened to be important to me.”_

_“And just how do you suppose we do that?” While McCoy's words were flippant, his tone was gentle._

_“We give the Nomad Nekae the information she would need to fulfill her supposed prophecy. Either she would know her cover was blown and flee or...”_

_“...or she would get the girl.” All three men sat in silence._

 

Now they faced down the Ambassador and the Admiral. They'd agreed that the Captain would give the report first, including Spock's recount of the mindsifter. After that, each of them would champion one of the possible explanations for Spock's flashback/vision.

Kirk put a hand on his lap, feeling his stomach turn. He really wished he'd thought to put something other than lemonade and coffee on it.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, back on Organia, Nekae reclined in her chair and looked out over the beach. She took a long drag on her vaporizer, filled with the finest stickyball she could get on the way here. Leaning back, her face relaxed into a goofy smile. Next to her, also seated on the balcony, was her friend Trefayne. He looked normal again, as opposed to the old man look he'd worn with the other Organians.

“You don't always have to fit in, you know. Just because they decided to be a council of geriatric humanoid males doesn't mean you have to go all white haired with them. And that hat is void.” Her words sounded loopy, sloppy, sloshy. She smiled, finally enjoying herself.

“I was surprised you'd decided to help them, but once I understood your motivations the decision was entirely in character. Why did you not just explain it to me?” The Organian looked young, tall and broad-shouldered with a mop of brown hair not even mostly contained under a small, round hat.

“You're like a physicist, you know? And I'm a particle. Do you think, if you figure out why I do things, that you'll be making some epic scientific discovery?” She let her head loll back as she stretched her neck and shoulders.

“Yes,” he said simply. Then, “Would you like to go down to the beach?”

“No, not yet,” she said, letting the stretch work down to her legs. She heard the sound of ice and glass, and knew Trefayne was pouring her another Romulan ale.

“You seem interested in the young man...” he mused. She smiled, wide lips wet with the drops of her last drink.

“I might be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where to find more DownDeepSouth:
> 
> ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6728422/DownDeepSouth
> 
> tumblr: http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Like this story? Please review and such!
> 
> For suggested casting, pics, fic recs, and other goodies, hit up http://southernsexynstuf.tumblr.com/


End file.
